


The Darkness and the nightmares

by Chiaki_Hamano



Series: 100 prompts [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternative Perspective, Angst, Bat Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, F/M, Hence this monstrous thing was born, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, I just want villainous Batfam, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, No regrets my friends, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible Character Death, Slow Burn, What Have I Done, Without it being Earth 3, alternative universe - supernatural, it's a war, villain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiaki_Hamano/pseuds/Chiaki_Hamano
Summary: Prompt No.22: VillainSometimes, our demon doesn't have a name. It's the thing that torments us while we wake and haunts us in our sleep. Other times, the darkness has a name. And in a modern world where there's about to be a battle between Light and Darkness, the line will be drawn between good and bad, dark and light. Will the Darkness' four knights rise and cast the world in its shadow or will the Light win the war?The shadows whispered to young Dick Grayson, stroking his hair gently and pulling him into a cold embrace. The ten-year-old child shuddered but didn’t recoil from the touch of darkness.“Nightwing. Nightwing, my little bird, my sweet, obedient son. Complete the task.” The voice whispered in his ear. It was sweet like honey, low and dark with forbidden promises, a low rumble that sent shivers down the child’s spine. Dick felt himself tilt his chin up, his eyelashes fluttered when pressure pressed to his forehead like a kiss.The shadows on the tent rippled but Dick knew it had nothing to do with the wind. It was familiar, comforting, parental. He raised the knife. He was Dick Grayson, yes, but he was also-





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters... Trust me, you should be glad. I also don't make any money from this. The story is heavily inspired by the book Dark Designs (By Luisa Prieto). All mistakes are my own. Be warned, English isn't my first language so beware of possible gramatical and spelling errors. I would grateful if you could point them out for me.
> 
> Romance is a part of the story but this isn't a story _about_ romantic relationships. Hence, it will take back seat for the important events. Don't worry, it means there will still be romance. This just isn't primarily a romantic story. Charater relationships aren't also set in stone so there _might_ be changes in the future. 
> 
> The story comes from my desire to see villainous Bat Fam not in an Earth 3 universe. I have no shame and no regrets. I will try to stick to the characters' personalities as closely as possible but changes are to be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I fucked up B's personality... I fucked up _really_ badly. Hopefully he will change into something _less_ creepy in the later chapter, more like the B we know just more... villain-ish. But overall, I'm fairly satisfied with how the rest of the chapter turned out. I hope you like it, too.

Nightmares were hard to shake off especially if they were based on true facts. Officer Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson knew it too well from his own personal experience. Crossing the distance between the front door and the counter in his single apartment, Dick carelessly dropped his tie on the couch and kicked off his shoes.

 

He made himself a cup of coffee and made his way to the couch, dropping heavily on it. The rookie blew on the mug and after a moment of hesitation, he took a small sip, letting the liquid burn its way down his throat and warm his stomach.

 

The young man took a look around his messy apartment. He took notes of the stack of dishes in the sink and reminded himself to wash them later. There was also a box of cereal laying on the counter, spilling out slightly when it fell down when Dick’s elbow had nudged it this morning in his hurry. On the floor was a shirt he had thrown when he was simply too tired to put it in the hamper.

 

On the walls, several posters, clipped articles and certifications were hung. There was the worn out Flying Grayson poster, the edges had curled up from all the time it had been handled despite Dick’s extreme care. There were also the articles about Haly Circus, about the tragedy that had struck the famous Flying Graysons, a picture of a small boy crying next to his broken parents, several more-

 

Dick turned his head away before he could examine the pictures too closely.

 

The rookie pulled his legs up, curling into himself as he ran a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, the oppressive silence of the apartment seemed to swallow him whole. Briefly, he regretted not taking up on his colleagues’ offer for a night out at a local bar. He disliked silence and his small, quiet and messy apartment seemed to be very keen on awaking every single of his demons today.

 

It was one of _those_ days, Dick knew. It was one of the days where he wished that he had fallen with his parents instead of watching them fall. Yesterday, a familiar dream had made Dick bolt to the bathroom at 2 in the morning, hurling up whatever left in his stomach and shaking uncontrollably. It had been years since he had last seen the dream but it left him just as terrified as the first time he experienced it.

 

In the dream, Dick saw things from his own perspective, not as a passive person looking at himself. He had slipped away when no one had paid attention and approached the ropes. He saw himself hold up a rusty knife in his small hand (too small, like when he was 10 all over again) and slowly, carefully cut the ropes, making sure that the cut would be innocuous enough that it couldn’t have been anything but an accident.

 

In the nightmare, Dick saw himself watching as his parents swing on the ropes and the ropes snapped ( _Just as planned_ ) and Dick watched impassively as his parents fell. It happened too fast. They were still smiling when they fell. The floor came closer and closer and his mother fell first, her pretty neck sparkling with glitters snapped with a sickening crack and not even a second later, his father followed, his body blanketed his mother’s.

 

They died with a smile on their face.

 

Their son lived with a smile on his face.

 

That was when Dick woke up. The nightmare always left a sickening feeling in his stomach and he was always covered in cold sweats. The police said that it had been an accident and Dick wished that he knew _for sure_ if it was true. However, he couldn’t recall anything happening that day, only the moment when the piercing screams from the audience jolted him from whatever trance he had been in.

 

They said he had been in shock, that was why he couldn’t remember.

 

Dick wished that he believed them.

 

After that accident, staying at the circus had been too painful and with the ‘Gypsy’ blood running through his veins, he was sent to a juvenile detention center and then he was shuffled from orphanages to orphanages, foster homes to foster homes.

 

He was always sent away with complains about his night terrors.

 

Despite his difficult life, Dick had managed to land himself a scholarship to a good college and then somehow, along the way, he had made it. He became a policeman. His demons faded with time. It was never completely gone, but the time had soothed the ache.

 

Until last night, when Dick woke up screaming himself hoarse, sweats coated his body. It was horrible. It had been months since he had that nightmare. Dick picked up his coffee mug, and noticed his own hands were shaking. The rookie gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the porcelain surface, willing his body to stop its tremors.

 

* * *

 

Dick lost the concept of time after a while, losing himself in the memories of his own childhood, of spotlights and cheers, of the feeling of flying and freedom… His phone beeped, signaling an upcoming message. Dick jolted up, blinking slowly. He placed the mug down, the liquid had cooled considerably now and the apartment had gotten dark. The only light that filtered through the apartment’s window was the orange street light, dim and haunting.

 

The young man reached over and picked up his phone, pressing a button and read the message. It was from Tim Drake, an intelligent young man that wanted to grow up to be a detective. Dick didn’t know what he had done but he had somehow managed to give Tim some sort of idol complex over him. Dick didn’t mind though. Tim was like a little brother he never knew he wanted but was glad that he was given the chance to get to know him anyway.

 

Dick pressed the button to call the teenager. “Hey, Timmy.” Dick greeted, looking at the dancing shadows on the wall, a small smile appeared on his face.

 

“Dick! Hey.” Tim greeted, his voice was muffled slightly but it was still enthusiastic. “I was hoping that I could talk to you. See, see, I was looking through some old cases, you know, unsolved cases and all that and I found that one of them happened right in Gotham! You wanna drop by and maybe we can… you know… investigate on it?” He asked.

 

Dick chuckled at the enthusiasm that his pseudo brother expressed. “Yeah, sure, Timmy. Maybe this weekend. I have a double shift tomorrow and I really wanna catch some sleep.” He said, rubbing his eyes with two fingers.

 

“Oh… I’m sorry. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Tim asked. Dick could detect the upcoming apology even before Tim spoke it.

 

“Nah. You didn’t interrupt anything. I was just chilling. I’m up for a conversation.” Dick smiled as he stood up. He finally removed his ass from the couch and turned on the lights, watching the bulbs flicker to life. He really needed to replace them soon.

 

He made his way to the cupboard and opened the door. There wasn’t anything edible in there except for cereal boxes, and the fridge was also mostly empty saved for the few beers he stocked up just in case. Dick wrote down on his stick note ‘ _Grocery shopping_ ’ before sticking the pad on the fridge.

 

Dick stared at the sad state of his kitchen, contemplating on what he should have for dinner. Take out? Nah, his fund was running low this month. He grunted to himself and took out the last of his clean bowls before pouring some cereal and after inspecting the milk and deeming that it wasn’t spoiled, he poured it on the mess in the bowl.

 

Dick thought one advantage of being an adult was that if he wanted to eat cereal for dinner, he could. No one could scold him for that. Dropping a spoon in his bowl, Dick then carried it over to his couch and placed his legs on the coffee table while he still kept the conversation flowing with Tim.

 

After an hour and a half later, the pair ran out of things to say and Dick’s bowl had been emptied. Tim hung up with Dick’s promise of a ‘play date’ that weekend. The last Flying Grayson sighed when the silence descended once again. Not wanting to suffer the silence any longer, Dick turned on the television and let the noise fill the room while he made his way to the sink to begin the tedious process of cleaning up the dirty bowls and dishes.

 

Dick zoned out in the repetitive activity so much that he almost missed the knock on his door. “Coming.” Dick called and dried his hands, happy for the distraction. The rookie glanced at clock. Huh? It was quite late already. Who was visiting him at this hour without calling beforehand?

 

Dick approached the door and peered through the hole, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he saw an unknown middle aged man standing there in a tasteful suit. He didn’t recognize him though there was something about him that was… _familiar_ almost.

 

The strange man knocked on the door again before folding his hands behind his back, waiting. Dick didn’t unlatch the chain as he opened the door. “Hello…? Can I help you…?” Dick greeted reluctantly.

 

“Are you Mr. Grayson?” The older man asked and Dick nodded. The man smiled. “Then yes, I’m looking for you. It’s important. Would you mind letting me in?” He asked politely.

 

A moment of hesitation later, Dick unlocked the door and unlatched the chain to let the strange man in. “Sorry about the mess. I haven’t had time to… ah… clean…” Dick said, wincing at the mess that was practically everywhere. He hastily made a gesture for the couch.

 

“Would you like something to drink?” Dick asked, the lesson about manners he had learned a long time ago resurfaced and he remembered vaguely that it was a polite thing to do.

 

“Water would do. Thank you.” The strange man took off his shoes and Dick noticed that he was holding an expensive suitcase the type that Dick would have to work without eating for a year to afford. The man politely didn’t comment on the smelly jacket that Dick had thrown on the couch earlier and sat down on an unoccupied spot.

 

“…Right.” Dick said and turned around, rummaging through his stack of still wet but newly cleaned things. There were no cups. Dick glanced at the sink. Ah crap, he only had one cup and he still hadn’t cleaned it. Dick turned on the water and washed the cup before filled it with water. He grimaced. It was a childish Superman cup. Well, it was the best that he had right now so the man would have to suck it.

 

Dick turned around to study the stranger. He looked rough, the kind of roughness of someone who had been through quite a lot. It clashed horribly with his expensive outfit. The rookie cop could recognize a soldier when he saw one. The other man was definitely a soldier of some sort. He also had an eye patch over his right eye and stern face. He reminded Dick of some of his instructors. They weren’t to be messed with.

 

Dick carried it to the coffee table and placed it in front of the man. He discovered that the man was currently looking through some of the papers that Dick had been working on. “Excuse me.” The young cop said, plucking the paper from the man’s hand and collected all the strayed papers on the table before stacking them up. “Right… So… Who are you and what business do you have with me…?”

 

The man smiled. It was a sharp smile full of teeth that put Dick immediately on edge. “My name is Slade, Slade Wilson. It’s good to see you again, Nightwing.” The man said calmly, studying the Superman cup with a mixture of fascination and curiosity.

 

Wha- Dick’s mind stuttered at the name. Nightwing? What did that even _mean_?

 

 _Shadowy figures. A rush of wind. The feeling of flying. Laughter. A splatter of blood. A flashing image of ropes and the glint of gleaming metal_ …

 

Dick blinked and suddenly, he was looking at Wilson again. The older man had put down the cup and was now watching Dick calmly, waiting for a reaction. The young cop narrowed his eyes. “If you leave now, I won’t call the cops.” He said, his voice came out much calmer than how he was feeling right now.

 

“You can call them if you’d like. It doesn’t matter. If my information is correct, you are a cop yourself, aren’t you?” Wilson shrugged.

 

“Get out.” Dick whispered through his teeth, tensing up for a battle. The phone was out of his reach but his ball point pen wasn’t. If he could grab it and perhaps use it as some sort of weapons, he could distract the man long enough to call for back ups.

 

“Not until you see what I have to show you.” Wilson said. He raised his hands and Dick tensed further. The hands wrapped around the back of his head and slowly, the man removed his eyepatch.

 

“…What?” Dick was getting more and more confused with each moment of this interaction and before he could question what the man was doing, Wilson had already uncovered his right eye.

 

In Dick’s line of work, injuries weren’t news. Dick had seen his fair share of serious injuries and suffered some of his own in his line of duty. So the sight of an empty eye socket didn’t scare him. For a moment, Dick relaxed his shoulders for a bit. Perhaps this man was just… _unwell_. He needed medical attention or something like that. If Dick could just scare him away and call the hospital, they would deal with him.

 

Of course, life really hated Dick and it didn’t grant him his wish at all. At first glance, the eye socket looked surprisingly unremarkable. It was an old injury, a bit grossed, but nothing more than that. Dick wasn’t sure if the man just wanted to show it for the shock value or something else. Just when Dick decided to voice his thoughts, Wilson tilted his face just slightly, casting shadow on the void where his eye should have been.

 

Dick stared.

 

The shadow _rippled_.

 

The lights in his apartment flickered.

 

To his growing astonishment and horror, when the lights were flickering rapidly, the shadows they casted made it look like the blackness in the empty socket actually spilled down Wilson’s cheek. Dick did a double take. Holy shit, it was actually spilling down the other man’s cheek like some sort of liquid.

 

While Dick couldn’t say that he was a genius, he knew enough to know that was not how shadows were _supposed_ to act. Shadows were not supposed to spill down someone’s cheek like in some freakish B-graded horror movie with bad effects. It wasn’t supposed to start pooling on the floor like water, either!

 

_The shadows whispered to young Dick Grayson, stroking his hair gently and pulling him into a cold embrace. The ten-year-old child shuddered but didn’t recoil from the touch of darkness._

_“Nightwing. Nightwing, my little bird, my sweet, obedient_ son _. Complete the task.” The voice whispered in his ear. It was sweet like honey, low and dark with forbidden promises, a low rumble that sent shivers down the child’s spine. Dick felt himself tilt his chin up, his eyelashes fluttered when pressure pressed to his forehead like a kiss._

_The shadows on the tent rippled but Dick knew it had nothing to do with the wind. It was familiar, comforting, parental. He raised the knife. He was Dick Grayson, yes, but he was also-_

Dick jerked violently, kicking his foot when the shadow water thing touched his toes. The shadow, it was alive. It was-

 

The dark water followed the movements of his feet and Dick scrambled backward until his back touched the couch and he looked up at the… humanoid thing in front of him. Wilson couldn’t be _human_ , could he? Was he some sort of _alien_? Was this an alien invasion?

 

There was a sudden gush of wind. It tickled his cheeks.

 

“ _Nightwing_ ,” The wind… the voice whispered.

 

Dick flinched.

 

“Did you hear _that_?” Oh god… “Did you _hear_ that?” Dick asked, more like demanded, really. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He was confused and scared. He wanted something to make sense. Winds weren’t sentient beings. That went against _science_.

 

“No,” Wilson replied calmly, looking genuinely apologetic for… what? Freaking Dick out? Being an alien? “But I can feel it… _him_.” The man answered, smiling indulgently as the shadow water thing on the floor rippled like wind on a lake surface.

 

“ _Nightwi-_ ” The voice called again, ever so gentle.

 

“No!” Dick cried, covering his ears.

 

The air stilled.

 

“What was that? What the _fuck_ was that?! Answer me!” Dick demanded, his voice was a touch hysterical. He thought he could be excused given the situation at hand.

 

“The Darkness.” Wilson replied like it was the answer to everything. “A sentient manifestation of all humanities’ fears and hates. It has been called by many names. The Darkness. The Devil. Humans can be quite creative with naming things.” He smiled dryly. “Of course, that’s the official name. We call it by a _different_ name in the family.”

 

Oh God… “What different name?”

 

“Batman.” Wilson smiled.

 

“… What the… _Batman_? What kinda lame name is _that_?” Dick asked, grimacing at the terrible name. He would have had more words about the name if the situation wasn’t so serious. As of right now, Dick had a more important question ask. “What does it _want_?”

 

Wilson shrugged. “A lot of things, depending on the situation. Sometimes, it wants death, other times, it wants destruction. Rarely, it wants silence. Or domination. Occasionally, it likes to admire beautiful things. Right now though, it wants _you_.”

 

Dick shook his head. No. _No_. This was crazy. “Get the fuck _out_ before I call the cops.” He said, reaching forward to grab the pen. Wilson didn’t stop him. The smile on his face, however, slowly faded.

 

“I’m beginning to think perhaps abduction would have been a better choice. Or maybe I should have brought you something pretty to kill.” Wilson sighed, fingers traced his eyepatch slowly.

 

“I don’t kill people.”

 

Wilson chuckled. The sounds chilled Dick’s bones. The man’s shoulders shook slightly. “Oh my friend, do you think the Darkness could call you if there wasn’t something in you yearning for its touch?” He leaned forward, reaching across the table like he was about to touch Dick’s face.

 

Dick recoiled sharply. “Stay away from me. I’m not your friend.” He said sharply. No. Wilson was _lying_. He was a mad man. Dick’s mind was just playing tricks on him based on what had been said.

 

But was it true? What about the vision he saw earlier? About the circus and the wind? What about the nightmares? The _voice_?

 

Wilson suddenly looked across the room and zero-ed in on the clipped articles. “I heard about your parents’ death. I know how they died.” He said simply, still patient, leaning back as he laced his fingers together.

 

Dick felt his hackles rise. “Yeah? They said it was an accident.”

 

Wilson gave Dick another smile. “People can be so blind, don’t you think?” He asked. “You know how they died though, don’t you?” It was phrased like a question but it was an obvious challenge.

 

Dick tensed up. He swallowed. No. He did not _kill_ his parents. He did _not_. He was not a killer. He was not a murderer.

 

“You will get better. It’s going to be okay. Let the Darkness take care of you.” Wilson said gently, like he was trying to sooth Dick’s pain.

 

Wilson was wrong. Nothing was alright. Nothing could ever be alright again. He had killed… Or maybe he was going insane. Living alone with one’s demon tended to do that. His breathing hitched when the older man slowly leaned forward, his own shoulders visibly shook.

 

Dick stabbed Wilson’s eye with his pen.

 

The movement halted.

 

Oh God. Dick was going to be sick. He was going to be sick. He was going to hurl right here. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.” Dick whimpered, horror froze him on the spot. This was a horrible nightmare. This was a horrible, horrifying nightmare.

 

“It’s okay.” Wilson smiled.

 

Dick choked when suddenly, Wilson was bleeding everywhere. From his eyes and his ears and his nose and his mouth and it was a sight Dick would never forget. “We will have to do this the hard way.” The man said apologetically and Dick’s eyes widened when the steel gray eye blinked and turned a dull unremarkable brown and right in front of his own eyes, the missing eye grew back and filled in the void.

 

The dark puddled under their feet grew larger. The surface rippled and from the black water, a hand and then an arm slowly emerged. It made an attempt to grab at his ankle.

 

 _That_ pushed Dick into action, snapping him out of whatever trance he had been in. His training kicked in and Dick snatched the cup of water on the table, throwing both the water and the cup to the puddle, splashing it everywhere.

 

Dick climbed over the couch and leaped on the floor, making a mad dash toward the hanging keys to his car. He had to get out of here. He had to call for help. He had to tell everyone what happened. He had to _survive_.

 

A hand wrapped around his ankle, warm and slimy. The grip was firm. Dick tripped. “No. No. No. GET AWAY FROM ME!!!” Dick cried out, kicking wildly until his ankle was free.

 

In two steps, Dick had made his way to the keys. He fumbled with them, his stomach churned with the urge to vomit. There was a dead man in his apartment and some sort of slime chasing him. This was really like a bad horror movie. Only it was reality and Dick didn’t find it funny at all.

 

There was a knock on his door. “Dickie, my dear, I heard you shout. Are you okay?” An elderly voice said and Dick froze. Oh no.

 

Dick turned around to see that the material had rushed to the door. No!!!

 

“RUN! RUN, MRS. THOMPSON!!!” Dick cried, yanking the door open. The elderly woman looked confused, wrinkled face looked at Dick guilelessly. The puddle won as it surged forward and moved up the old woman’s legs, circling her ankles and moved up under the layers of clothing.

 

Dick stumbled.

 

One of the woman’s eyes slowly disappeared. It wasn’t the ‘disappear in thin air’ type in fantasy stories. It was the slow agonized ‘sink into the back of your skull’ disappearance.

 

One blink, the woman’s eye was still blue. Two blinks, gray steel eye stared back at him.

 

Shit.

 

“Well… This isn’t my preferred gender _or_ age but it will have to do for now.” The old woman… Wilson?... said calmly, gazing at Dick with that same cocky smile. “Hello again, Nightwing.”

 

Dick swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Damian's POV
> 
>  
> 
> _Damian wasn’t sure when the first time he had called the Darkness ‘Father’ was but he remembered the feeling when the word slipped between his lips. It had felt **right**. It had felt like a piece of the puzzle was fitted perfectly into the big picture. If his family couldn’t give him a father, then he would get one himself._
> 
>  
> 
> _The Darkness had cooed in his ears afterward, cradling him in its embrace and whispered the tales of a family that was complete. A family that would accept him wholeheartedly no matter his flaws._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* I am totally not sorry. Allow me to give you some info dump about the story of this AU. *winks* Also, B's personality is still messed up.
> 
> Translation:  
> Both 'Omul-Liliac' (Romanian) and 'لرجل الوطواط' (Arabic) means 'Batman'

There was a sound of pencil whispering against paper, soft scratches on the rough, white surface. Damian straightened his back to look at his newest creation. In the middle of the canvas was a blob of darkness shaded by pencil, big and consuming. Damian raised his hand to touch the picture, not minding the fact that the tips of his fingers were smeared with the same black material as the painting.

 

“Damian. What are you _doing_? What on Earth are you drawing?” A voice snapped Damian out of his concentration and the young boy directed a glare at his instructor, an old artist that the young heir deemed worthless in every way that mattered.

 

“I’m doing Art. The subject you are supposed to be teaching me about.” Damian answered, looking at his canvas, ignoring his teacher.

 

“This isn’t art. This is… this is _nonsense_.” The instructor insisted. Damian’s glare intensified. The worthless man had stepped out of line one too many times.

 

Damian stood up. “You are fired. Go to Mother to get this month’s payment and get out of my sight.” The young heir said calmly. “Dismiss.” He stood up and carried his drawing out of the study. He came across his mother on the way out. The woman looked down coldly but Damian met her eyes head on. “I dismissed the art instructor. He is unsuitable. He wouldn’t be able to decipher the difference between a masterpiece from Picasso and a child’s stick drawing even if it’s written on the front page.”

 

“This is the third one in the last four months.” Talia said calmly.

 

“I have learned calculations, Mother. Thank you for the reminders anyway.” Damian retorted, just as equally calm. “Perhaps if you could obtain someone with acceptable skill, this wouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

 

Both mother and son entered a staring contest, neither was willing to lose first by looking away. Finally, Talia spoke. “Explain your art.” She ordered.

 

Damian smiled thinly. “I named it: The shadow rises.” He said. He tilted his chin up in a defiant pose. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss about?” He asked.

 

Talia stared into her son’s eyes for a while before she shook her head. “No. Go to your room.” The woman said, placing a hand on his shoulder and gave a small squeeze before walking pass him.

 

Damian didn’t turn around nor did he contemplate on the strange affection from his mother. He made his way upstairs and retreated to the safety of his own room. In there, Damian had covered the windows with thick curtains, blocking most of the light. The room was cooled with the use of AC, the gentle winds made the curtains sway. The shadows on the walls danced upon Damian’s entrance.

 

Damian allowed himself a smile. He placed the canvas down on the table. He pulled open the drawer and retrieved several more drawings. Most of the drawings were about blobs of darkness in various shapes and sizes. Some drawing depicted people though. More specifically, there were four people. One was Damian himself, dressed in battle armor, sword strapped across his back while he was leaning over a table, studying a spread map.

 

The second figure was of a young man, a touch of blue on his chest and a smile on his face. He was offering his hand to the viewer, ever so inviting and tempting. On the outside, he was cladded in a silk cloak while on the inside, he was wearing a battle outfit as well, form fitting and deadly.

 

The third figure was another man in a shocking red hoodie. He had a glare on his face, his hair was wind tousled and his bangs were white. He was holding two guns, one gun was being used to blow up some faceless person’s head while the other gun was gripped in a loose grip, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

 

There was also a half finished drawing of another young man. He was reading a book, his face was left blank. One of his hands was supporting his head while the other one spread the book. He was crossing one leg over the other in a bored pose.

 

Damian looked through the drawings again, tracing the contours of each figure before he put them away. “Soon, Father.” Damian promised, touching the shadow on the wall nearest to him and watched as the tendrils of darkness curled around his index finger like the grip of a baby.

 

“When they regain their memories and unite as one, you can have a body.” Damian continued, waiting for the tendrils to retreat before pulling his hand away.

 

“ _Robin…_ ”

 

“I heard you, Father.” Damian said, tilting his face back to look at the ceiling. “Is Nightwing waking up? I had a feeling.” He asked, not minding that he was seemingly talking to an empty room. Damian made his way to his bed and sat down. The young boy looked down at his feet, watching as the darkness under the bed swirled in excitement as it curled around his ankles.

 

“ _Yes…_ ”

 

“Excellent. He’s the most competent out of the rest of those three buffoons.” Damian noted. He shuffled over until he reached his nightstand. The young child pulled the last drawer and took out what seemed like a letter cutter knife. “Father, please feast on my blood and get stronger.” He said.

 

He ignored the sting of the cut, and let the droplets of blood be devoured hungrily by the monstrous thing that was without a body. When the darkness retreated, there wasn’t even a hint of anything that had been there previously.

 

“ _My child…_ ”

 

“I live to serve.” Damian said, pulling his legs up and let the winds gently pet his face and hair. “How long is it until Nightwing is fully operational? I wish to have someone to converse with.” He asked, looking out of the window. It was midday but it might as well be night in Damian’s room from how dark everything was.

 

“ _He’s resisting… Bad Nightwing. Bad child wants to go back to sleep…_ ”

 

“Shall I handle it then?”

 

“ _No… Let his lieutenant do it…_ _Stay here until the time is right for you to rejoin our family…_ ”

 

“Very well. As you wish.” Damian said, the winds teased him again but didn’t speak to him any longer. Damian didn’t mind the silence. His entire life was silent, he had been raised in an empty manor full of silence and coldness. Perhaps it was why he had awakened so soon. There was no light to resist the darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

It hadn’t always been this way, once upon a time. He remembered a time when his grandmother was still alive and his grandfather hadn’t turned into… whatever that he was nowadays. He remembered the time when his grandmother would sit him down in front of the burning fire in a cold night on the Arabian Desert. She would tell his stories of the people in the past.

 

She was the past. He was the presence and the future.

 

When she ceased to exist, it would be his time.

 

He remembered one of his favorite stories. “Once upon a time, there was the Darkness. It surrounded everything, even us. Our fears gave it strength, our hatred fueled it. When night fell, if one human accidentally slipped away, they would become prey to the Darkness.” His grandmother would say.

 

“What happened next?” Damian would always ask.

 

“Then we discovered fire. Suddenly, there was a barrier between us and the Darkness. As long as the barrier existed, the Darkness could not get to us. This led some of us to start weaving magic into fire, and then to other elements as well, water, air, earth, spirit… The Darkness watched, unable to do a thing. It grew hungry.”

 

“…And lonely? Was it lonely?” Damian once asked. His grandmother had just blinked in surprise at the question but took it in stride.

 

“Perhaps.” His grandmother had answered. “It had us once. Maybe in its own way, it cared for us. That would explain why it would approach a young child that had slipped away from his parents. Maybe it just missed the companionship.” She mused. “The Darkness offered the child a chance to serve it. The child, who was naïve and so innocent, had accepted the offer without knowing what it meant.”

 

Damian used to feel sorry for the nameless kid in the story. The boy had been so stupid. The boy was too trusting. His parents had not taught him the lesson of ‘stranger, danger’.

 

“The child grew up under Darkness’ care and became its first knight, Nightwing.” His grandmother said softly. “He began his mission for the Darkness, tempting those with weak wills into serving it and killing those that said no. Nightwing’s army swept across the continent, gathering more and more followers with each passing second.”

 

“Oh… So how was he… How was he stopped? Was he stopped?” Damian asked, leaning closer with anticipation.

 

His grandmother smiled. “Ah.” She said knowingly. “That’s where our strength lies. The Darkness cannot love, but we can. After years of being afraid, of being attacked, we had decided to gather together to fight, to protect. We met Nightwing in battle and we destroyed him.”

 

“And Nightwing? He’s dead?”

 

His grandmother’s smile turned wistful.

 

“No one knew for sure. Some said that he had been sealed away in an unknown location to everyone but the highest mages. Some said he had been killed in battle. There were also those that said he had retreated to some unknown location, shielded by the darkness to lick his wounds, waiting for his return.”

 

“Oh.”

 

His grandmother patted Damian’s head indulgingly. “Just as there is Darkness, there is also Light.” She said gently.

 

“Is it… Is it a creature, too? Like the Darkness?” Damian asked hesitantly.

 

“No,” She answered finally. “It’s us. We are the Light. Originally, there was only Darkness, we created the Light by creating Fire. So in a way, we are the Light, each of us is how the Light expresses itself. Magic had intertwined with the Light. Just as the Darkness will call for its knights to serve it, the Light will retaliate by sending its mages.”

 

“Grandmother… Knights?... There were more than one?”

 

“Four. Thankfully, each was separated by millennia. Each reflected a facet of the Darkness’ passion. There was the first knight, the seductive Nightwing of temptation, master of air, after Nightwing came Red Hood, a tyrannical lord of fire. Then after Red Hood, there was Red Robin, a king of water. At last, there was Robin, the prince of Earth.” His grandmother said softly.

 

“And the mages stopped all of them?”

 

“Yes.” His grandmother smiled gently. “Only the Darkness has the power to revive the Knights but without a body, it is useless. It needs the knights to channel its power previously.”

 

“A body… Why hasn’t it made one? Wouldn’t that be more convenient?”

 

“It’s tried, child. Many times, in fact… But it does not understand how to be a human. It knows how we look, it knows how the muscles of the heart works, but it doesn’t know _love_ , it doesn’t know how to imitate a soul. Without a soul, a body cannot hold itself together. It can only tempt us, seduce us, watch us, but it cannot _be_ us. So while its knights laid waiting, it is trying to create a soul and once it succeeds, the final battle will begin. The knights will rise and gather around it, and the mages will rise as well, to fight back.”

 

Damian struggled to understand. “But… Wouldn’t it be a good thing? It having a soul? Wouldn’t that make it more…” He paused, finding the right word. It felt like he had spent his entire life just for this one question. This one moment. He _needed_ the right word. “… more _human_?”

 

Damian never received the answer to his question. His grandmother was distracted by something and left Damian alone to his thoughts. That was the last of his happy memories. After that, cancer had robbed his family of his grandmother. His grandfather had turned cold and unfeeling. His mother would go on long business trips and leave him to the caretakers. As for his father, well, no one had mentioned his father ever since he was born. He might as well have been born with just one parent.

 

It wasn’t until he was eight that the Darkness spoke to him. At first, he had thought his imagination was playing tricks on him when he heard whispers in the winds. Then words like ‘Robin’ or ‘Child’ would repeat over and over again until it was undeniable that the winds were whispering to him.

 

After that came the vision. Or perhaps, it was better called the _memories_. It appeared to him in dreams, another life he had lived, the siblings he knew but never had. The beings that served the Darkness faithfully like him. He would remember battles, his role among the knights of Darkness. In his sleep, the Darkness whispered sweet nothingness in his ear and names that slowly started to make sense to him. Batman. Nightwing. Red Hood. Red Robin. Robin. Lieutenants. Servants. The _Light_. Mages. The true nature of the world. The Darkness would whisper about the promises of a better world, where shadows ruled everything and there would be no more wars, no more hunger, no more pain, only _darkness_.

 

Damian wasn’t sure when the first time he had called the Darkness ‘Father’ was but he remembered the feeling when the word slipped between his lips. It had felt _right_. It had felt like a piece of the puzzle was fitted perfectly into the big picture. If his family couldn’t give him a father, then he would get one himself.

 

The Darkness had cooed in his ears afterward, cradling him in its embrace and whispered the tales of a family that was complete. A family that would accept him wholeheartedly no matter his flaws.

 

Damian had been tempted.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know where my lieutenant is, Father…” Damian admitted to the dark room, fingers tightening around the bed sheet. Being a knight’s lieutenant was an honor. At first, Damon hadn’t been able to understand the concept of it. The Darkness already had its knights and its servants, why would it give the knights a lieutenant each? What was the point? Why didn’t the Darkness pick the Lieutenants for the Knights? Why gave them the choice to pick whoever they wanted?

 

The Darkness had explained to him then. While the knights were reborn without memories, the Lieutenants lived on even after their knight’s fall. Sometimes, they were also reborn, other times, they might just take up their space in another body. But they always remembered. They were to assist the knights in their task or in their awakening. They were to be everything the knights wanted them to be. Friends, lovers, servants, advisors, or something else unique and different. The Darkness hadn’t wanted its knights to be as lonely as it had been. Damian thought his Father was a kind being.

 

Personally, Damian didn’t think their mission, their crusade, was evil. He honestly didn’t think that the world being surrounded by darkness was a bad thing. After all, it had been proven in the past, hadn’t it? When men were still living in caves, they had been one with the nature. They didn’t destroy everything they touched with their dirty technology. Illnesses such as cancers from chemical exposure were nonexistent. Wars between tribes or villages only resulted in the death of hundreds instead of thousands or millions like that of a nuclear explosion.

 

Being shrouded in shadows wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially when the Darkness was as kind as his Father. He would only take enough. He didn’t want to destroy _everything_. If he did, he would be alone again. Damian wouldn’t let that happen.

 

Damian’s memories of his past life as Robin weren’t complete though. There were still pieces missing. Most of the pieces were about his own Lieutenant. For some reasons, it was a sore topic for the Darkness. His Father didn’t want him to get close to his Lieutenant.

 

“ _Traitor_ …”

 

“... _Bad_ …”

 

“… _Stay away_ …”

 

The Darkness would hiss angrily every time and even in a locked room, the wind would pick up and toss Damian’s things on the floor in a fit of anger. Damian wanted to ask more, he wanted to ask what kind of person had his chosen Lieutenant been that sent the Darkness into such a fit. However, he had never gotten the chance. He would always be too busy calming it down to say much.

 

“الرجل الوطواط _…_ ” Damian always whispered in Arabic. _Batman_. The word rarely failed to calm the Darkness.

 

This time though, unlike the other times before it, the Darkness didn’t immediately hiss angrily. For that, Damian was grateful. He sighed into the gentle touch. He wanted to meet his Lieutenant. He did. He wanted to know about the man that he had chosen to be his companion.

 

“ _… Far away… Somewhere colder… It’s almost time… Almost time for you all to gather together…_ ”

 

The wind whispered and Damian opened his eyes. Yes, he knew that. He might be young physically (Only twelve, too young to know about death and destruction but that didn’t stop him anyway) but he was an old soul. He knew when the time was approaching. His awakening, and then Nightwing’s, and soon, the others’, would signal the return of his Father.

 

“Will you guide me when it’s time?” He asked softly. A few years earlier, he had started with his elemental trainings to get back some of his former control over Earth but because he had to hide while he practiced, his progress wasn’t all that much. He knew he had much better control over Earth back when he was still Robin. Well, that wasn’t true. He was _still_ Robin. Perhaps it was better to say that his control was better before his death in the hands of mages.

 

“ _Of course, child…_ ”

 

Damian blinked, feeling himself drift off to a memory. It happened much more often now. If he didn’t fight it, the memories didn’t hurt. It was always enlightening to know more about his past.

_“Run, Robin. Run. I will hold them back.”_

_“No! I’m not a coward, Nightwing! If you stay behind to fight, then I will, too! I refuse to be treated like a child!”_

_“You will be killed, R. It’s been written in the prophecy. If you stay and fight, you will die with us until_ Omul-Liliac _returns. It can be a really long time.”_

_“Nightwing is right, Robin. At least one of us has to live.”_

_“Shut up, Red Robin. You don’t get to order me. If it has been written in the prophecy, then so be it. I’d rather die a hero than a coward.”_

_The gate that the three knights were guarding snapped open, sending the knights sprawling on the ground. Robin looked up just in time to see Nightwing had used his own body to shield his brothers. And on the other side, there was a familiar face._

_Robin hissed._

_“Red Hood. You traitor! How_ dare _you show your face to us! You betrayed everything we stand for!” He saw red with anger and betrayal. Being betrayed by his own family. How dare Red Hood lead the mages right to their place!_

_“Meh, I’m plenty dark, ain’t I? Dear old pop shouldn’t have picked me. But still, I’ll make y’all proud when I seal you all away for good.” The traitor shrugged. Robin clenched his hands into fists, gritting his teeth._

_“Hood… Please…” Nightwing whispered but before he could make another move, a mage with a spear already stabbed him in the chest, the metal break through tissues and skewered him on the spot. Blood splattered over Robin’s body and he froze._

_Nightwing coughed up blood._

_“Wait… Wait why did you kill him? This isn’t in our agreement. I thought we were going to seal them away only!” Red Hood cried. He looked confused and scared and lost. Robin would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t too busy staring at the blood on his own hand. Nightwing’s blood._

_“They are dangerous. They must be killed.”_

_Then pain erupted from Robin’s chest. He cried out-_

 

Damian shook his head. That was an unpleasant memory. He squeezed his eyes shut, placing a hand over his chest, willing the phantom pain to fade away. “Hood, that traitorous _coward_ …” Damian growled.

 

“ _Hush… He was not wrongly chosen. The prodigal son shall come back to his family…_ ”

 

Damian scowled. He didn’t know why his Father still decided to treasure that worthless traitor. He had betrayed them all. He had gotten them killed. If Damian had his way, he would have gone ahead to find out where Red Hood was to kill him before he could have a chance to revive.

 

“ _Robin._ ”

 

The Darkness reprimanded. Damian let out a soft, annoyed. “Tt.”

 

There was a knock on the door.

 

“Who is it?” Damian asked, frowning. His family usually never bothered him while he holed himself up in his room unless there was some sort of emergency. The servants would have called him only if it was meal time. It was either as far as Damian was concerned.

 

“Grandson.” Ra’s voice sounded from the other side and Damian narrowed his eyes. He climbed down the bed and opened the door to let his grandfather in.

 

“Grandfather.” Damian greeted, crossing his arms over his chest. His grandfather was supposed to be on a business trip. What brought him home so soon?

 

“Grandson, it has come to my attention that the time is right.” Ra’s al Ghul began in a cryptic voice. Damian tilted his face slightly, eyebrows furrowed together but he still remained silent. “It’s time for you to take your rightful position as my heir. You were born to be one of the Light’s mages.”

 

Damian bit back a curse. “What do you mean, Grandfather? I don’t understand.” He pretended though his mind was reeling. This could not be what he was thinking about, could it?

 

“Your grandmother told you about _the tale_ , didn’t she? About the Darkness and the upcoming fight between us and its knights. She was the love of my life and one of the strongest mages the Light has managed to produce. The Light council has deemed that very soon, the final war will be upon us. All the mages are to train their potential heirs for this battle. As a member of the Council, I deem you worthy of receiving training from me. You have shown much potential to be a mage.” Ra’s said, lips curling up in a dry smile.

 

“Grandfather…” Damian began, trying to stall for time while he came up with something clever to say. It was just his luck that he was born into a family of mages.

 

“ _Go, my little bird…_ ” The wind whispered softly in Damian’s ears.

 

“Well?” Ra’s asked, looking down at Damian with an impatient look on his face.

 

“I live to serve.” Damian said finally. It wasn’t directed toward his grandfather but toward the Darkness. Not that Ra’s could have understood the implication. Only the Knights and some very special people could hear the whispers of Darkness and Ra’s was not one of them.

 

“Good. Come. I will go through what you need to know. Tomorrow training begins.” Ra’s looked pleased, probably because he thought he had an obedient mage at the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The old man turned on his heels and walked out, not waiting to see if Damian would follow him or not.

 

Damian smiled grimly and followed after Ra’s, letting the voice whisper soft encouragement in his ears. He would need every bit of luck not to snap and slaughter every soul he came across.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
> 
> _“You are the first,” Lois suddenly said, not giving him a chance to say anything else, “The first knight. There will be others.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _What? Wasn’t he already bad enough? Why must there be others, too?_
> 
>  
> 
> _“You’re going to look for the Dark-”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I’m not. I’m not going to look for it.” Dick interrupted through gritted teeth._
> 
>  
> 
> _“When you are **you** , no.” Lois agreed, tearing her gaze away from Slade’s body and looked at Dick. “Run. He’ll go after you.” She said gently._
> 
>  
> 
> _“I can’t leave you here. I’m a **cop**. I can’t-”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I’m dying and Clark-” Lois motioned to the figure slouched over the counter. “-doesn’t matter to him right now. If you go, he’ll go after you and forget about him.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“But…”_
> 
>  
> 
> _She had a fucking point. **Move.**_
> 
>  
> 
> _Dick pushed himself up. Lois was right, he knew that, but the thought of leaving made something inside him wither. He had failed so many times, and he was failing once again. He couldn’t save her. All his presence seemed to do, though, was endanger other people. Innocent souls. “I’m sor-“_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Go.” Lois said firmly though her eyes squeezed shut in pain. “He’s almost finished getting rid of the body and…” Lois’ eyes opened and Dick had to bite back a sound at the raw, naked pain he saw. “And I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“…Why?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The word came out soft, scared. It was just barely above a whisper, shaken and vulnerable. Lois knew things, saw things. What had she just discovered about him? Would he want to know?_
> 
>  
> 
> _Could Dick afford not to know?_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Why?” Dick repeated the question, louder this time, firmer, less shaky._
> 
>  
> 
> _“You’re the Darkness’ knight,” Lois said. “By tomorrow evening, you’ll return to it.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry for this chapter. Also, may I gently remind you that well, technically, you and I are exploring a war. There will be deaths.
> 
> I'm... not sure what to think about this chapter. Do you guys like it? I hope I can get some feedbacks for this particular one. It's conflicting for me.
> 
> Translation:
> 
> minunat (Romanian): Wonderful, beautiful

Lois Lane was a bit of an odd ball, she herself knew that. Typically, when an author picked a place to write their stories, they would pick places like their own room, somewhere quiet, or a coffee shop with ambient music, not an insignificant diner no one knew about at 10 in the evening. She didn’t mind her strange habit though, it worked best for her.

 

She peered through her laptop to look at Clark Kent, her editor and lover, and freelance journalist. “You don’t have to sit with me, you know that. I can stay for a while.” Lois said. “You don’t have to take your editor job so seriously.” She teased.

 

Clark, blessed his good natured heart, chuckled. “I know, but I want to keep you company.” He said, taking a sip of his drink while he studied her. “Just focus on your work, I can entertain myself.” He said, placing his big, warm hand over hers. “Can’t let your fans scold me for distracting you from your very important work.”

 

Lois grinned. “Alright, alright, if you say so.” She relented, focusing back on the Word page she had opened. Where did she stop? Ah, this part. She scrolled upward, looking at the title of her newest fantasy novel in her ‘Half Lives’ series with a smile on her face. The idea had nagged at her in her dreams until she gave in and wrote it out. It was a bit different from her typical stories but she had to say, she was pleased with it.

 

When she first presented the idea, it had met with some skepticism. Writing from a villain’s point of view wasn’t ground breaking news, but it wasn’t popular, either. The fans wanted to read about good people, heroes with noble goals, not knights following a formless deity. However, after some convincing, she had managed to convince her publisher to give it a go. It had been a success.

 

The story was conflicting to say the very least. Technically, the people she wrote about were evil, those who had killed, tortured and done things in questionable methods just to serve a being who just wanted to terrorize humanity. However, even as an author, it was hard for Lois to hate her characters. They were flawed, and they were entirely too _human_ to be hated.

 

She sighed, re-reading the paragraph she had just written. While she had been distracted, it seemed her hands worked instead of her brain because she was staring at a paragraph describing a scene in a diner with her being the star of it. Lois deleted the entire block of text, determining to focus back on the current subject, the awakening of a knight.

 

Tonight would be a very long night.

 

* * *

 

This was worse than the time the police flooded him with questions after _the fall_ , Dick thought as he sneaked glances at Wilson, he would always be Slade Wilson no matter which body he was in, who seemed to be completely at ease like he had inhibited that body for years instead of hours.

 

The evil being had made Dick dress up and then took him to this diner a few blocks over, for what reasons Dick didn’t know, but they couldn’t have been good. He glanced around the diner, mentally counting the people that were present right now. There was a couple at the far corner, a woman whose face was familiar (She might look like someone famous) but Dick didn’t recognize, a man with glasses, there was also a trucker at another table. A group of teenagers were talking at another table and at the counter, the waitress looked on with a bored look on her face, popping the gum in her mouth in a repetitive motion.

 

Briefly, Dick considered the possibility that the people inside the diner were all Wilson’s people. And that they were just pretending so that they could monitor him. In that case, he should run. He should back out and run now, to the nearest phone booth or police post to call for back ups. Asked for help.

 

But then again, what if these people were innocent? Could Dick afford to lose them too? What if this mad man decided to kill them all. Could Dick stand the guilt of more blood in his hands? Wilson nudged at his back as if sensing Dick’s thoughts and he inclined his head toward an empty table.

 

Dick grunted and sat down, folding his hands in his lap as he stared at the pattern on the table, refusing to meet Wilson’s eyes.

 

“If you leave, I will start killing without you.” Wilson said, his voice was pitched low enough that only Dick could have heard him. It confirmed Dick’s worst nightmare. These people were innocent and if he didn’t comply to the mad man’s order, he would get them killed for no reason than to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

 

“If you want me, then you already have me. Let Mrs. Thompson go. She doesn’t have anything to do with this. She’s just a weird cat lady that cares too much. You said you wouldn’t kill her if I came with you.” Dick ground out, but before Wilson could respond, the waitress arrived to their table, notepad in hand.

 

“What can I get you two?” She asked, bored.

 

“Nothing.” Dick said, turning away moodily.

 

“Excuse my grandson, he had a pretty bad break up.” ‘Mrs. Thompson’ said gently. “Just two of your most special dish please. Coffee for me. What about you, Dickie?” Wilson asked, pretending to be concerned.

 

“Coffee.” Dick said snappishly and the waitress huffed out a breath before she retreated. The rookie narrowed his eyes. “ _What_ are you? An alien? Is this an alien invasion?” He asked, still skeptical about the whole ‘Darkness’ bullshit.

 

“I’m a Lieutenant.” Wilson explained, sounding amused at being called an ‘alien’. Bastard. “I take over when a knight is absent.” He said with a smile. “Co-ordinate people, send them to wars and such. It’s terribly boring if you just sit behind a desk and plan things. Still, my Knight has been absent so I have to step up.”

 

Dick scowled. “Whose Lieutenant were... _Are_ you?” He asked, pushing for information. If Wilson minded his terribly rude tone, he didn’t mention it. Dick knew he was being antagonizing, but he hated being pushed into a corner like this. It made him lash out.

 

“Yours.” Wilson answered without missing a beat.

 

“Bullshit.” Dick growled out.

 

Wilson shrugged.

 

“Give Mrs. Thompson back now. She is harmless. And you promised you wouldn’t kill her.” Dick demanded, glaring at the waitress when she returned with the orders. The woman, unnerved by Dick’s aggressive behavior, left immediately, opting to send glares at his direction.

 

“Well, I did promise that, didn’t I?” Wilson smiled. “I won’t kill the old woman. But I have to regrettably inform you that she’s already dead. Hazard of the job. Nothing I can do about it.”  He didn’t even look apologetic when he said it. Dick closed his eyes. Oh god. Mrs. Thompson was a kind woman. He remembered her baking too many cookies and gave most of them to him when he needed it the most. She was so kind. And now she was _dead_.

 

Because of him.

 

A movement caught his attention and Dick zeroed in the grip Wilson had around his coffee mug. The shadow his fingers casted rippled slightly and-

 

_“Nightwing…”_

_The wind whispered and little Dick turned around, slipping out while his parents were busy preparing for the night’s performance. He had already dressed himself in yellow, red and green so his parents didn’t stop when he slipped away. He was always unable to stay still for too long._

_“Nightwing…”_

_The child stopped dead on his track. Around him, it felt like something had put cotton on everything, like a fog had dimmed his thinking process and made everything dream-like._

_“Nightwing…”_

_Dick approached a trunk that held all of the crew’s tools and extras. He pushed open the lid but found that it had been locked. Annoyed, the child pushed at it again, his small body casted shadow over the trunk. He stared at the shadow for a long time until slowly, the shadow moved on its own._

_The shadow placed a finger over its lips. Dick couldn’t see it, but he knew it. The darkness slowly crawled over the lock and slipped inside the small hole. Dick waited._

_“Nightwing…”_

_The lock became undone with a small, barely audible_ click _. Dick opened the lid again, staring down at the various tools. He reached down and rummaged through the content until he pulled out a small knife. It was dull from uses but perfect for his needs._

_The shadows rippled. They guided him to the ropes. The ropes that would be used later. He closed his eyes as he listened to the whispers, his fingers curled slightly like he could run a hand through the tangible wind._

_Dick set to work, he slowly cut the rope with extreme precision. The shadow guided him when to stop and where to continue. This was a delicate job. The shadow knew best. Dick let it guide his hands. The deaths would be a gift to the Darkness-_

Dick blinked rapidly. Oh God. Oh God. Oh-

 

Dick covered his mouth with his hand. He was going to be sick. He was a murderer. He was a monster. He killed his own parents. It was not an accident at all. He should go to the police station right now and- Dick choked. His parents who had never been anything but kind to him. His own blood parents… He was _evil_.

 

And if Slade Wilson was right, he would become that monster again.

 

“I’m pleased to see you again, Nightwing.” Slad- _Wilson_ murmured through the cup, looking _happy_. He was still wearing Mrs. Thompson’s face…

 

“Dick.” Dick uttered, gripping the fork tightly, wishing that he could stab the smug bastard again.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“My name is _Dick_.” Dick said, gazing steadily in Slade’s single eye. He was Nightwing, there was no denying it, not anymore. But he was also Richard. He would fight to keep being Dick Grayson. “I’m _Dick Grayson_.”

 

Slade’s single eye narrowed, the gray color darkened. He was getting annoyed. Good. “When you start to remember, you’ll realize your true name will guide you through this.”

 

Yeah, that was what Dick was afraid of, too.

 

From the corner of his eyes, Dick saw something flutter. A single black moth approached the pair, landing on Slade’s finger before bled into his skin, dissolving completely. The evil man slumped in his chair. “It’s just as I thought.” He said.

 

Dick was afraid to ask what it was. Slowly, something under Slade’s borrowed skin moved and the patch of skin darkened slowly until the tattoo of a snake appeared. It circled his wrist and then spilled down the table, hiding in darkness.

 

From his other wrist, another serpent appeared as well.

 

“What are you doing?” Dick demanded, pushing his chair back.

 

“One of the people here is a mage or has the potential to be one. We have to destroy them first.” Slade said firmly. Dick looked around. Everyone seemed normal… A mage? What was a _mage_? Like a magician? The kind that used magic instead of pretty tricks?

 

Before Dick could form a clever response to the statement, Slade continued. “I don’t know which one it is.” He smiled indulgingly at him. “They’re my gift to you. I’m still too weak from changing bodies, but the serpents will keep them from escaping.”

 

_No…_

 

The second snake spilled down onto the floor as well, following its sibling. It rippled then solidified, and grew larger. Longer.

 

Dick looked at his own shadow, screaming as loudly as he could in his head. _Stop them_ , he thought, _stop the snakes_. _Stop!_

 

Nothing happened. Either his ‘power’ was still sleeping or it needed blood to work. Dick wasn’t sure which explanation was better. He swallowed, looking at Slade.

 

“What are you waiting for, Nightwing?”

 

“Dick. I told you. My name’s Dick. I won’t kill. I can’t-” His voice cracked.

 

A hand latched onto his wrist, holding tight enough that Dick could feel the bruise forming under the grip. His fingers twitched.

 

“The mages were the last thing you saw in your last life.” Slade said, his voice was passionate. “I want to give you a chance to avenge yourself. To make it _right_.” He said, gritting his teeth. “Don’t you get it? They _killed_ you.”

 

“I don’t _want_ it.” Dick insisted, tugging on his hand. The grip tightened again. Dick was afraid that the mad man would have broken something if this continued on. “I don’t want revenge. I don’t want to _kill_ anyone.”

 

Slade’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then I apologize. You have forced me to overstep my bounds.” He said. Dick was suddenly filled with dread.

 

* * *

 

Around them, life went on. The couple were talking softly to one another, the woman was typing something on her laptop while the man wrote down a note on his notepad. The group of teenagers left the diner after paying for their meal with laughter on their lips. The trucker was still digging in his meal. The waitress had gone back to popping her gum.

 

They had no idea what was going. What danger they were in right now. This was so much worse. At least in war torn zone, people knew what to expect when a group of men with guns showed up, here, now, the people expected nothing more than a slow evening.

 

Was this going to end up like back when Dick was ten again? At Haly’s circus? But instead of the insidious Darkness making him do things, it was Slade this time? Could he even make Dick kill? Was that possible? Making someone do something?

 

Dick forced down the urge to let out a hysterical laugh. No, he could not do that. He would not let him. He would _not_.

 

… Could Dick really say that though? It had happened before, it could happen again.

 

Dick jerked his hand again, sharply. He had to warn the people of the danger. They had to get out before… before-

 

Slade yanked him back to his seat, his grip was brutal. “So stubborn. Just like the Nightwing I remember.” He teased, a smile on his lips. A dark shape rippled under Slade’s skin and another tattoo began to form. It was shapeless, just a dark patch of skin that could move. It slowly crawled down Slade’s fingers and touched the skin around his wrist. It was cold.

 

Flashes of images appeared, too fast for him to catch. He could spot one or two though. _A man,_ himself _, stood over another, brush in hand, painted a bloody shape on another’s back. Pale, long fingers gripped a needle…_

 

Dick jerked his grip again, this time the grip did slacken, just enough for him to break free.  He stood up. He had to warn people.

 

“Snakes.” He cried out. “There are snakes in here. They can be poisonous.” He cried.

 

Eyes focused on him before slowly, almost sluggishly, the people looked down on the ground. They looked at him again.

 

Dick tried again. “They are hiding behind the chairs. They are going to attack.” He said, his voice cracked with the desperate urge to warn people.

 

“Dickie, please…” Across from him, Slade called in that annoying faked grandmotherly voice. He looked around, his gaze was apologetic. “I’m sorry, he hasn’t had his medication yet.” He explained.

 

What? No! _No_! Dick wanted to scream. “No! There are snakes!”

 

The people around them offered Slade sympathetic looks and returned to their tasks. _No_! Fuck. They believed the bastard. They thought Dick was crazy. He had to make the people here believe. They had to run, call for help, something. They couldn’t-

 

The waitress moved to the trucker’s table to refill his drink. The movement caught the attention of the snakes and they slithered. Dick’s heart leaped to his throat. “Snakes! They are behind you!” He cried out. The snakes immediately darted to the nearest shadows and hid, movements stilled.

 

Could the snakes even understand _English_? Well, they were magical snakes. They probably _could_. The waitress looked at the ground and then at Dick, shaking her head in annoyance.

 

“Dickie, please. Take your medicines.” Slade said, standing up. His fingers slid to Dick’s elbows and he gently but firmly guided Dick back to his seat, massaging the feeling back to Dick’s hand. He sighed heavily. “Your upbringing this time has confused you.” He said, voice was full of sympathy.

 

Dick slumped against the chair, swallowing a lump that formed in his throat. He wished Slade would be aggressive. He wished the man would force him to do things, not… _this_. He should sound like a villain, thugs that Dick captured while on patrol, or like those crazy thieves Bludhaven was full of, not… not like an old _friend_. Dick could handle violence and aggression. He wasn’t sure if he could handle kindness.

 

“You’re hurting yourself.” A hand touched his shoulder and Dick looked up. “Don’t fight the memories.” Slade said softly. “Let them come to you. You will _understand_.” The man said. Dick flinched from the touch, turning his head away. Sleepiness suddenly swept over him, making him dizzy.

 

He had to stay awake. Dick had to stay awake or something would happen again. Something like the fall would happen again, only this time, more people would die and it would be his fault for not being able to stop it. He blinked rapidly, forcing his eyes to open wide.

 

Now he was back to the diner, with Slade crowding in his personal space, his eyes were full of concern. Fuck, Dick couldn’t take this much more gentleness. He jerked when Slade’s other hand, the hand that wasn’t steadying him rose to brush against his cheek. He looked awe.

 

“Your eyes… They are Dark.” The whisper came out vehemently but softly, something akin to worship or perhaps pride or something else. Fondness, maybe? There was something about the way he said ‘dark’. It seemed like he said it with a capital D. Dark, not ‘dark’. Darker than what he expected? But Dark, how?

 

“There’re snakes in here… They’re poisonous.” Dick gasped, trying to stay conscious. The dizziness got worse. He felt faint. “Snakes-“ Dick blinked rapidly, fighting a losing battle. “They-“

 

Were _minunat_. Wonderful.

 

* * *

 

Lois deleted the sentence that she wrote. She had a beautiful idea for the next scene of her book but whenever she was trying to get into it, that man started babbling about snakes.

 

Lois sighed, feeling a bit like an ass. She knew she couldn’t stay angry. She knew someone who saw things, too. When the person had read her latest book, _Living Tattoos_ , he hadn’t been able to sleep for a week, scared of tattoos and drawings. Lois pitied the unwell man, but he really should take his medication. It would make him feel better.

 

Life continued in the diner. Clark had excused himself to go to the bathroom, shooting the unstable man sympathetic looks as he walked by. The poor old woman he was with, his grandmother, maybe, really had gone through a lot.

 

A movement caught Lois’ attention and she studied the dark streak on the floor. It was just a piece of trash the waitress hadn’t cleaned. Heh, snakes. She wished that she could reassure the man that what he saw wasn’t real, but she didn’t know him and she didn’t want to get involved.

 

Something in the shadow _shifted_.

 

Lois frowned.

 

She saved her file. Her concentration was shot. Perhaps she should stop for the night, walk home with Clark and then maybe go somewhere tomorrow to pick up the work. Lois closed the lid of her laptop, waiting for her lover.

 

The shadow moved again. This time, Lois knew that she hadn’t imagined it. She had been watching. Glinting yellow eyes slowly emerged from the shadow. Lois felt her heart stop. Snakes. One of them slid to the elderly lady and she reached down to pet it. _Pet_ it. Like a pet. Lois felt like she had entered a bizarre dream.

 

“Snakes.” Lois called out, her voice was shaky and small. “There’re snakes.” She said. Her voice was too soft. People were going to die because she didn’t say things loud enough. Clark emerged from the bathroom, looking puzzled at Lois.

 

He looked down.

 

His face paled. Good, he saw the snakes, too.

 

Lois darted toward the exit, laptop forgotten. She had to get out, call animal control or something. She had to move fast. Clark followed her but yelped when a snake stopped him dead in his track, hissing angrily and snapping its massive jaw.

 

Lois’ lover stumbled backward, out of the snake’s reach. He tripped over a chair and hit his head on the edge of the counter, slumming down unconscious. The waitress opened her mouth to say something but all that came out was a loud, high pitched shriek of terror.

 

Everything was too loud. Too loud. Things were happening too fast. And Lois was still running. Just a few more steps. She was almost there.

 

A snake faced her, slithering in front of the door to block her exit. Fuck. It snapped its jaw, causing Lois to take a step back. And then another. The snake hissed and slithered faster, causing Lois to backstep even faster to avoid getting bitter. Oh god, the snake was _directing_ her.

 

Wait a second. Hadn’t she written this scene before? Just now, at the diner, before the man’s babbling about snakes caused her to delete it and rewrite it. The victim had been directed by the snakes and led to a corner where he had been killed. But the protagonist, the villain that Lois had been writing, _he_ had been sitting alone, not with someone.

 

The snake sprung on top of Lois and the woman shrieked, falling on her bottom. She jerked her leg back when the snake slowly crawled up her leg, jaw opening wide as if smiling, yellow eyes glinting dangerously.

 

Then it crawled past her and to the elderly woman. The woman chuckled and reached down to run a wrinkled hand over its scales. Just like the protagonist in Lois’ book.

 

Lois’ throat constricted. She must have had snapped. There was no other explanation to this weird scene. The world seemed to have whited out, but Lois still registered sounds. It seemed the waitress was still shrieking and the trucker was making a run for it only to be stopped by the second snake. Or the third? She didn’t know how many of them were in this diner.

 

Lois directed her gaze toward the unstable man who was still slumming against the table, hands covering his head. He didn’t look so unstable now. Lois had to apologize, had to thank him for warning them even though people looked at him like he was mad.

 

“H-Hey…” Lois called softly, her voice shook.

 

The man lowered his hands and faced Lois.

 

Lois’ words died.

 

Inhuman eyes looked back at her. Black had replaced where the man’s whites had been, his blue irises glowed softly, casting light over his handsome face. He looked surreal. He looked like-

 

 _Nightwing_.

 

The first knight of Darkness.

 

Dark eyes looked at Lois unblinkingly. Lois couldn’t force herself to speak. This was like a horrible nightmare but if she didn’t accept it fast, she would die. Hell, even if she accepted it, she would still die. Everyone would. There was a Lieutenant and a Knight here. If what she wrote was even remotely true, she would be torn apart. There would be no mercy. Lois and Clark and that waitress and that trucker would all die…

 

“Lois Lane.” The elderly woman said. Nightwing’s eyes were still focusing on her, unblinking. Lois felt her brain short circuit. She couldn’t remember which Lieutenant this one was. She wasn’t one to forget what she wrote, but she thought she could be excused in this situation.

 

“On average, I lose around a tattoo every ten years, mostly accidents I assure you. In Germany, 1940’s, I lost fourteen, it was a tough battle. Not one hundred and forty two. Get your facts straight.” The Lieutenant said, amused.

 

Oh God…

 

Lois flinched when the snake crawled toward her again, coiling tightly like it was about to spring. She turned away. This was going to hurt. She didn’t want to see.

 

The pain never came. Lois risked looking back, jaw dropping open when she saw that her shadow, or maybe it was Nightwing’s shadow, she wasn’t in a position to really think straight right now, had grabbed onto the snake, the thing’s grip was tight around the snake’s corpse. Nightwing had stopped the snake from biting her. He had _saved_ her.

 

Lois looked at Nightwing, awed.

 

* * *

 

The woman’s shadow had obeyed his order. It stood before the woman, holding the dead snake in its tight grip, watching the last of life faded from the yellowish eyes.

 

Dick jerked, forcing himself up. The shadow twitched and he realized it had felt a portion of his distress. Was it connected to him? No matter, he wasn’t going to look into it right now. The shadow released the snake, making it fall on the floor with a dull thud. Across the diner, everything had fallen silent. Good, the screaming had hurt his head.

 

“I really hate your upbringing this time, Nightwing. It has confused you greatly.” Slade rose.

 

No. It had made him _human_.

 

Slade frowned. “Do you think that it’s just simple black and white? If the Darkness is evil then the Mages must be good?” He asked. Dick didn’t deem him worthy enough of an answer. “After your death, the mages… they had used your blood to hurt the Darkness, too…” He said gently.

 

Good. He hoped whatever they did had hurt Slade, too.

 

“This isn’t a good idea.” Slade finally said. “I will kill the ones here and we’ll take you back to the base to finish your convergence in peace.” He reached forward to gently pat Dick’s head like an indulging father.

 

“No.” Dick gritted his teeth. He was done playing nice.

 

Slade’s shadow twitched. Dick focused on it, feeling something between him and it. He could make it do _things_. Slade gave Dick a pointed look. “This isn’t up for debate, Nightwing.” He said, stepping forward.

 

Faster than Slade could react, the man’s shadow stepped forward at the same time, hands tightened around his neck.

 

_Snap._

 

Slade’s body slummed. His neck was at an odd angle, red began to seep from his mouth.

 

Dick did hurl this time, unable to withstand the sight of more deaths. He had had enough. He wanted today to end. He couldn’t take it anymore. Dick stood up, moving to the other side so he could avoid splattering all over the woman as he began to empty his stomach until nothing came up anymore, leaving him heaving for air. He wiped his mouth, spitting out the last of his pile.

 

“The Lieutenant isn’t dead yet…” The woman whom he had saved spoke up finally. Dick focused on her. Helping people, yes, he could do that. He was good at helping people. He could push this to the back of his head if he focused on her.

 

“I know.” Dick said softly. “Dick Grayson.” He said, offering her his hand.

 

“Lois Lane. I’m a- Ouch!” Lois cried out and Dick cursed himself for forgetting the second snake. It had crept up to them while they were distracted and bit down on Lois’ wrist. Dick leaped forward and yanked the snake away, crushing it in his hands.

 

_Snap._

 

The snake stopped jerking.

 

Another death by his hand. More blood.

 

No. _Focus, Grayson_! Dick dropped the snake and knelt down next to Lois, pulling his belt free. “I can make a tourniquet.” Dick offered, trying to stamp down his horror when black veins appeared on the poor woman’s wrist and slowly traveling upward at incredible speed.

 

“He’s not dead yet.” The woman, Lois, repeated as if trying to make Dick understand, jerking her face toward the slumped figure on the ground. The movement caused her pain and she grimaced, blinking back tears.

 

“I know.” Dick said softly, working on her wrist, trying to stop the poison from spreading. Across the diner, the waitress and the trucker had bolted, only leaving the unconscious man behind. At least two people wouldn’t die tonight…

 

“You have at most five minutes before he’s done getting rid of the body.” Lois said, trying to sit up. “He’s been forced to do that in the modern time. The deaths are beginning to make people suspicious, he can’t afford to get people suspicious.” She said.

 

“How do you know it?” Dick asked, unable to stop himself. “Are you… a mage?” The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

 

“I have hunches. I wrote books.” Lois shrugged, stumbling slightly as Dick helped her sit up, gritting her teeth. No wonder Slade wanted to kill the poor woman… She was special. What a cruel man. Was this really the man that Nightwing worked with? Would Dick become just like that when he became Nightwing? He couldn’t bear the thought…

 

“We have to hurry. Can you walk? I can help your unconscious friend if you can walk by yourself.” Dick said, glancing at the cooling corpse.

 

Lois shook her head. “No use. I have a minute, maybe two.” She said with a wistful smile. “Unless you remember how to counter this, I’m afraid my time has run out.” She followed his gaze toward the pool of blood under the corpse. “His blood is red because he hasn’t bonded with the body he has just taken. He is almost done. You have to hurry.”

 

_Fuck._

 

Dick cursed. “What can I do? Do you know how to counter it?” He asked. He couldn’t let another one die on his watch.

 

Lois chuckled weakly and shook her head. She was a beautiful woman, she was still so young, too. She shouldn’t have died! This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. “Your eyes, they are normal now.” She said, placing a hand on his.

 

His what now? Never mind. It must be the fever speaking or something.

 

“Remember my name, Dick. I’m Lois Lane.” She finally said. Dick swallowed but nodded. He would remember her name until his death even if it was the last thing that he did. She deserved that much.

 

“You are the first,” Lois suddenly said, not giving him a chance to say anything else, “The first knight. There will be others.”

 

What? Wasn’t he already bad enough? Why must there be others, too?

 

“You’re going to look for the Dark-”

 

“I’m not. I’m not going to look for it.” Dick interrupted through gritted teeth.

 

“When you are _you_ , no.” Lois agreed, tearing her gaze away from Slade’s body and looked at Dick. “Run. He’ll go after you.” She said gently.

 

“I can’t leave you here. I’m a _cop_. I can’t-”

 

“I’m dying and Clark-” Lois motioned to the figure slouched over the counter. “-doesn’t matter to him right now. If you go, he’ll go after you and forget about him.”

 

“But…”

 

She had a fucking point. _Move_.

 

Dick pushed himself up. Lois was right, he knew that, but the thought of leaving made something inside him wither. He had failed so many times, and he was failing once again. He couldn’t save her. All his presence seemed to do, though, was endanger other people. Innocent souls. “I’m sor-“

 

“Go.” Lois said firmly though her eyes squeezed shut in pain. “He’s almost finished getting rid of the body and…” Lois’ eyes opened and Dick had to bite back a sound at the raw, naked pain he saw. “And I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

 

“…Why?”

 

The word came out soft, scared. It was just barely above a whisper, shaken and vulnerable. Lois knew things, saw things. What had she just discovered about him? Would he want to know?

 

Could Dick afford not to know?

 

“Why?” Dick repeated the question, louder this time, firmer, less shaky.

 

“You’re the Darkness’ knight,” Lois said. “By tomorrow evening, you’ll return to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to youuu... Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to youuuu!" The awful singing stopped and Colin couldn't help the smile on his face. The children that attended his birthday clapped their hands together in child-like excitement._
> 
>  
> 
> _"Blow the candles and make a wish! Make a wish, Colin!"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Yeah!!"_
> 
>  
> 
> _Colin grinned at them widely, brushing his hair back. Sure, he could do that. He took a large gulp of air, his mouth puffed out. "3... 2... 1!"_
> 
>  
> 
> _Colin blew out the air from his lungs, watching the flame flicker out of existence. He closed his eyes._
> 
>  
> 
> _He wished for the gift of forgetfulness. So that he wouldn't have to keep remembering all his past lives and his mistakes..._
> 
>  
> 
> I don't want to be your Lieutenant anymore, Robin. I haven't wanted that title for years now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look at the other side of the war. What's the fun in it if you only root for one team? This chapter contains all of my love for humanity and my fascination for its achievement. I hope, for the lack of better words, that it's... inspiring to read. Humanity is too beautiful if you look at it just right.
> 
> P/S: All the dates mentioned are real.

Colin Wilkes lived in a state of constant fear and paranoia. At twelve years old, the boy didn’t act his age. It probably had something to do with the fact that he was currently on the run or the fact that he had been living for much longer than twelve years. Colin had his name changed many times now, and saw a great deal of things in his long life of rebirth and death only for the circle to repeat itself.

 

In life, there were the good life choices, and then there were the bad life choices and then there were the life choices that changed one’s life so dramatically that they couldn’t be put in those two categories. In Colin’s life, there had been two such choices. The first choice was to say yes, and the second choice was to run away. So far, he had regretted the first one immensely.

 

Yes, Colin was going to say it now. He _used to_ be a Lieutenant. ‘Used to’ was the key word here. After the fall of the knights, Colin had decided to run away. It wasn’t because they lost. No, not really, the problem ran much deeper than that, and Colin wasn’t shallow enough to abandon an ideal just because of a defeat.

 

The core problem was, Colin had realized after serving for some time, that the Darkness and what it stood for was _not_ good. Of course he knew that they had done questionable things. Colin himself had done questionable things, too. He didn’t say that in the sense of morally wrong or right. He was a firm believer in the ends justified the means. No, that itself wasn’t the problem.

 

The problem was the Darkness. It wanted to shroud everything in its shadow. And by doing so, it would have stunned the humanity’s growth permanently. Colin had been lucky enough to witness some of the humanity’s invention and heard tales from others as well. There was the fascinating Antikythera mechanism, there was the Maya’s calendar, and the first accurate water clock by the Greek inventor Ctesibius. So many more. The list went on and on, filling books upon books in the great and ancient library of Alexandria. Couldn’t _anyone_ see it? How fascinating everything was? How bright and brilliant humanity was? Surely there must be a way to live with each other. To stun their growth would be a _sin_.

 

Sure, humanity had its flaws. Everything had flaws. Even the Darkness or the Light wasn’t perfect, that was how life was supposed to be. Humans had their greed and wars and destruction and deaths, but if one looked through history, couldn’t they see that humans had achieved so _much_ for just one lone species? Humanity was so curious and beautiful. It was breath-taking. It was inspiring. It was… _magnificent_.

 

However, the Darkness didn’t think so. Neither did its knights including Colin’s own knight. They wouldn’t settle for a compromise. They wouldn’t agree to co-live with humans. Colin had tried to convince them so many times, tried to convince _Robin_ so many times. He turned a blind eye whenever a brilliant man or woman was murdered for their cause. No one understood it. Even the so called ‘Light’ didn’t get it. They just wanted to stop the Darkness.

 

Colin had endured enough.

 

So he bailed.

 

It was cowardice of him, Colin knew that. But when the knights fell and Colin realized for the first time, he was actually free of Robin’s influence and the Darkness was unable to influence him without its precious knights, Colin had run. He had all but disappeared. He created his own death to fool the remained servants. He wore wards to fend off the Darkness. He avoided dark places and tight spaces as best as he could. He looked behind him all the times.

 

With that, Colin, formerly Abuse, was free.

 

And then he grew old and died.

 

Only to be reborn again.

 

It was disappointing. Colin had thought once he would be free, that would be it. He would sever all ties with his past and live his life happily. Then he grew old and wrinkly and died with a lot of grandchildren surrounding him. He hadn’t expected to be reborn or to remember every single moments of his long, long life from then on. Being aware inside a womb was not a fun thing.

 

Darkness said it had blessed him when it made him Robin’s Lieutenant. Colin had once believed it.

  
It was more like a curse now that Colin had gone through some major growing up.

 

Life was only beautiful because there was death. Living was only precious when that could end. Death was a _blessing_. It helped give life meaning. Colin had lost the meaning of life a long time ago when he couldn’t die and couldn’t forget all the people he had killed or all the terrible things he had done.

 

Perhaps that was why in this life, under the name Colin Wilkes, the former Lieutenant had sought for redemption in St. Aden’s Orphanage. He wanted to do good, to make up for all the sins he had committed. Colin had too much blood on his hands and even if he used the rest of eternity to repay for his crimes, it would still not be enough.

 

Fingers lingered on a well-read page on his book, Colin mumbled under his breaths, tracing the fading lines. “ _I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.”_ He read, hugging the book to his chest.

 

Colin’s birthday was a few days ago. He had been thrown a party. It had been fun and Colin had been allowed to let go of his worries for few precious hours to pretend that he was just a carefree child. He even made a wish after blowing the candles…

 

* * *

 

_"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to youuu... Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to youuuu!" The awful singing stopped and Colin couldn't help the smile on his face. The children that attended his birthday clapped their hands together in child-like excitement._

_"Blow the candles and make a wish! Make a wish, Colin!"_

_"Yeah!!"_

_Colin grinned at them widely, brushing his hair back. Sure, he could do that. He took a large gulp of air, his mouth puffed out. "3... 2... 1!"_

_Colin blew out the air from his lungs, watching the flame flicker out of existence. He closed his eyes._

_He wished for the gift of forgetfulness. So that he wouldn't have to keep remembering all his past lives and his mistakes..._

 

* * *

 

_I don't want to be your Lieutenant anymore, Robin. I haven't wanted that title for years now._

 

Colin thought, sighing heavily. He fingered the ward under his shirt collar, disguising as a pretty necklace. The ward stopped the Darkness from tracing him but it didn’t sever his connection between him and Robin. Being a Lieutenant meant that he would always be connected to his Knight whether that was against his will or not. He knew that Robin was waking up from his slumber. The tie that bound him with his Knight had throbbed viciously, urging him to go meet Robin.

 

It had been one of many duties of a Lieutenant: to ‘wake up’ their Knight in order to prepare them for the war. The Darkness had made a lot of rules for the Lieutenants. They had to be chosen by their Knights, and they had to agree to it, knowing what their duties would be. Perhaps it had hoped that by doing so, it would guarantee that the Lieutenants would always remain loyal to their Knights, and would always complete their tasks. The whole point was, Colin had only known three Lieutenants, including himself, he didn’t have a lot of references to fall back to.

 

Apparently, the Darkness hadn’t thought of a scenario like the one Colin was being stuck in right now. Colin had been tempted to go see Robin. He had been close to Robin before the Knight’s death… But he didn’t want to give fate a reason to drag him into this bloody war. He was done with all of it. He was done with all conflicts. He just wanted to be left alone.

 

And so, with incredible effort, Colin had resisted all the urges to go see Robin, stubbornly remaining at the Orphanage. Perhaps if he didn’t go, Robin wouldn’t fully wake up, and the damage could be reduced.

 

Colin didn’t know. He didn’t think all that long about it. He just knew that if he went, he would be sucked in that vicious circle one more time.

 

“Colin, someone wants to see you. He’s waiting downstairs.” Sister Agnes knocked on the door to his room and smiled at him. Colin nodded and put the Bible down. Maybe it was another person that wanted to adopt a child. A family wouldn’t be too bad actually. He was a bit old to be adopted now, but there was always the chance.

 

“Okay.” Colin agreed. He took a peek at the person that wanted to meet him, studying the man intensely. He looked like a business man. He was young, but bald. Perhaps he had cancer? He looked out of place in the middle of the hall and it was quite obvious that he wasn’t interested in the other kids.

 

Colin was immediately on high alert. Years of hiding had given Colin a sort of sixth sense and fast deduction skill. Colin had never seen the man before, and yet, the man wanted to meet _him_. Furthermore, the man was not interested in the other children, it seemed he only had eyes on Colin. In the past twelve years, Colin had been keeping a low profile so he knew it wasn’t anything that he had done recently that interested the man.

 

So this must be something that concerned… _that_.

 

Colin glanced back. He wondered if a drop from the second floor to the ground would be enough to injure him. He had the skill to minimize the injuries. He hadn’t had the time to pack everything yet, but he always kept a small backpack full of things he would need in case of emergencies like this one.

 

Colin was a paranoid person.

 

It would be tough leaving this comfortable life behind, but Colin could deal with it.

 

Decision made, Colin took a cautious step backward to slowly make his way back to the window facing the backyard. It seemed luck wasn’t on his side because the wooden floor creaked loudly and the man’s eyes were on him instantly. “Hello there.” He greeted.

 

Colin debated running away still but then thought better of it. He had been found out, if he ran now, whatever suspicion the other had would be confirmed. It was better if he played stupid. He made his ways down the steps. Stopping at a safe distance, Colin put on an innocent façade. “You wanna talk to me, mister?” He asked.

 

The man smiled. “Indeed I do.” He said, gesturing toward a bench nearby. “How about we sit there?” He offered. Colin pursed his lips slightly but nodded. Together, the pair made their way to the bench and Colin did his best to sit as far away from the suspicious man as possible.

 

“It’s my honor to meet you at last, Lieutenant Abuse.” The man said. Colin’s blood ran cold.

 

He forced himself to remain calm. “Abuse? Who’s that? I’m Colin, mister.” He said, his heart beat loudly in his rib cage. This was not good. This was not good at all. He had thought he was being so careful with the wards… He had slacked off and now he was paying for his mistake.

 

“Please drop the act. We both know it’s not fooling anyone.” The man said with a smirk. Colin narrowed his eyes.

 

The boy pulled himself up to his full height. It wasn’t much of an improvement but it was better than earlier. His face was stone cold. It had been awhile since he put on the mask of the cold, unfeeling, _evil_ Lieutenant of the Darkness. It was disturbing how easy it was to fall back into that role. “I’m honored.” Colin… _Abuse_ drawled. “But I feel rude not knowing who you are.”

 

“Lex Luthor, council member of the Light.” The man, Lex Luthor, introduced himself. “You are a _hard_ man to track down, Abuse.” He said, lacing his fingers together in his lap, looking completely smug.

 

“Perhaps that’s because this man doesn’t want to be tracked down.” Abuse said, lips pulled back slightly in warning as he bared his teeth. He sneered. “There’s a _council_ for the Light now? You mages have gone from a leaderless group of vagabonds to a group of vagabonds with a leader now? Good for you.” He mocked. “You should work on your PR though, meeting someone with a hairless head tends to give people a bad first impression.”

 

Luthor chuckled, undeterred. “You and I both know that you cannot go dark side anymore. You ran from it from what my research indicated.” He purred.

 

Abuse did snarl this time. “What do you want, _mage_? Get on with it.” He snapped.

 

“No foreplay? How boring.” Luthor leaned back, eyeing the former Lieutenant. With a calculating look, he began. “We want you to work for us. Well, to be more specific, I want you to work for _me_.” He emphasized.

 

“ _Work_ for you? What do you think I will agree to it?” Abuse said, snorting unattractively. “Listen here, mage, I don’t know what drugs you are on but if you think I’ll just volunteer to work for you because of your ugly mug then you are sorely mistaken.” He stood up. “Is that all?”

 

Luthor stopped him. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Personally, I like it when my employees are happy, but we can always do it the unpleasant way. If you say no, I’ll tell the rest of the council that a Lieutenant of the Darkness has gone rogue. Actually, I’ll announce the news to the rest of the world, see if you can hide anywhere else with both sides coming for you. The Light Council will want to interrogate you, and the Darkness side will want you dead.”

 

Abuse tensed. “Are you _blackmailing_ me?” He hissed. “You are talking to a Lieutenant right now, _boy_. I’m much older than you and I have taken down meaner thugs than you. Don’t think just because I’m not interested in this childish _brawl_ I won’t hesitate to snap your pretty, rich neck.”  

 

Luthor didn’t look cowed. “If you could use your power, you would have already. Am I right in saying that if you use that neat dark power you possess, you will alert your former Master?” He smiled. It was an all teeth smile. Abuse was reminded vividly of a hungry shark.

 

“I don’t need powers to kill a cocky little brat that thinks he’s so mighty just because he’s a higher up in a group of God wannabes.” Abuse huffed. However, he couldn’t deny Luthor’s words. Damnit. It seemed the one found him was someone that was in possession of a brain. A sharp one at that. Those were always the trickiest to deal with.

 

“Assuming that you were right, then why would you want me? I’m powerless, remember? Can’t aid you in your ‘righteous’ crusade to get rid of this world’s so called Darkness. ” Abuse pointed out.

 

“I don’t need your power. Never said anything about your knowledge.” Ah yeah, there it was. Luthor was a little shit. Abuse growled. The council member continued like he hadn’t been interrupted. “Having a Lieutenant on our side of the war will greatly boost our chance to win.” He said. He switched tactic. “Look, we both can gain something out of this.” He said gently.

 

“Like what? From what you are saying, you are the one who does the ‘gaining’ and I’m the one doing the ‘giving’.” Abuse said. He wasn’t interested in whatever that Luthor could offer to him. Money? If he wanted money, he could have money with the knowledge he had gained over the years. He was fine with living a life of a nobody in a crowd.

 

“Right now, I’m the only one who knows of your existence.” Luthor said calmly.

 

Abuse’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, straying from the righteous path? My, what would your precious cult say?” He mocked.

 

“And it’s a good thing for you, Lieutenant Abuse. See, I’m the one that knows, and I will protect your identity, give you that nobody life you seem to be so fond of, in return you help me win this war and perhaps, win me the Leader title as well.” Luthor grinned.

 

“Greed is unbecoming of mankind.” Abuse stated, rolling his eyes. “Still not what I want to hear. I still don’t see what I’m gaining from this.” He pointed out.

 

“I’m getting to that part. You see, Lieutenant, I have done my homework. I know about you and your fascination with humanity. Isn’t the prize of saving humanity worth it?” Luthor asked and oh, he was good. His voice had gone soft and tempting. It was the exact same trick Darkness had used on Colin the first time when he tried to tempt him. It would have impressed him if he wasn’t so disgusted by Luthor.

 

“See here, we are the same, you and I. I don’t want to see humanity ends, either. I don’t want to see its growth being stunned just because a formless blob of tar decides that it wants an eternity of suffering for humans.” Luthor continued, wrinkling his nose. “I have things that are worth saving, too. You may think I’m a bad, bad man for backing you into a corner, and yeah, I am not a saint. But I think you will want to save the things I want to save, too.” He said.

 

Before Abuse could say anything, Luthor beat him to it.

 

“December, 2017, the first human’s head transplant is scheduled. The surgery consists of Dr. Sergio Canavero and a team of 150 other doctors and nurses. May 5th, 2018, NASA launches the Mars lander. April 13th, 2029, Asteroid Apophis passes Earth within an altitude of 32,000 km, that is around 20,000 miles, closer to Earth than the distance between the moon and Earth. Right now, the University of Kentucky has found a way to use nanoparticle and sun light to convert organic waste into hydrogen, a clean source of energy. New materials that can pull water from thin air promise a chance to end drought are being developed. It can extract around 2.8 liters, that are 3 quarts of water per day in a place as dry as the dessert.”

 

He breathed heavily and grabbed onto Colin’s shoulders with both hands. “So look into my eyes, Lieutenant. Look straight into my eyes and tell me that those are not important. Those little baby steps humanity is taking. Tell me, am I wrong for wanting to protect those achievements? If that abominating being won the war, there wouldn’t be any achievements. No more Neil Armstrong, no more ‘one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind’. I _beg_ of you, Lieutenant. I know you can relate, I am not asking you to assist me in fighting, I’m asking you to give humanity a fighting _chance_.”

 

Abuse looked at Luthor, wide eyed. Fuck. He was fucked. He couldn’t be sure if Luthor was just manipulating him by using his weakness or not, but he just couldn’t say no, not now. Not when his words hit so close to his heart’s desire. He wanted to see more of humanity’s achievements. He wanted to be the one protecting that small light.

 

“Fine…” Abuse whispered, dropping his head, missing the small smirk on Luthor’s face. “Fine, you win, you little shit. Get the fuck out of this place and leave me alone. I’m not going to run.” He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling his age. He had lived for too long now. No human beings should live for this long. The weight of everything crashed down heavily and Colin bowed his head, shoulders shaking slightly.

 

“Of course, Lieutenant. I’ll have someone pick you up in a few days, give you a chance to say goodbye to your… friends.” Luthor said. “And please, call me Lex, we are all friends here.”

 

Colin glared. “Fine, _Lex_.” He spat out the name like it was poison.

 

‘Lex’ Luthor offered his hand to Colin, letting it hang in the air while he waited for the other to take it to shake on the deal.

 

Remember how Colin said there was also a third category in life choices? The one that would change someone’s life so dramatically they couldn’t be put in the ‘good’ or ‘bad’ category?

 

When Colin’s hand rose to meet Luthor’s in a firm clasp, it felt like he had made the third life-changing life choice.

 

_I'm sorry, Robin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
> 
> Looking at his boyfriend who was giving him a silly, goofy, _guileless_ look, Tim chuckled and waved his hand, watching the other roll around with his dog in a mock battle. _He will make a fine Lieutenant,_ Tim thought, _trusting, loyal, simple-minded and following orders without questions, yes, he will make a fine addition to the family._
> 
> Tim shook his head, snapping out of the strange thought.
> 
> What was that thought _about_? What did that even _mean_?
> 
> For the first time in a long time, Tim wasn't sure if he wanted to have the answers to those particular questions.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter than usual but I think I ended at the right part. I'm sorry for the delay, I had to re-write this multiple times. I think this chapter should be called 'I like them, so they shall suffer'. Actually, I'm fairly certain that's what I should name my story.
> 
> Translation:  
> Omul-Liliac (Romanian): Batman
> 
> This chapter was inspired by the song 'Control' by Hasley. I think it will make it better if you listen to it while you read, it will give it a little bit of feels. I hope you like this one. The last one was a bit of a let down but hey, I'm not discouraged.

On a hill far away from civilization was the manor of the wealthy Drake family. It was three in the morning, the time everything was still asleep and the air was peaceful. The light was still on in a bedroom in the lonely manor, casting shadows down below.

 

Tim sat alone in his bed, watching the winds howled and slammed against the window like a savage beast, hungry to tear him apart. He had woken up after a nightmare, a flash of red, strange dull squishy sounds and finally, a sickening crack that left him trembling not with terror but with excitement and fading adrenaline.

 

“ _My dark,_ dark _knight…_ ”

 

Tim flinched at the whispers he heard, trying to block out the sound. He was losing it. He was losing it and _he knew it_.

 

“ _Beloved child…_ ”

 

Tim’s breathing hitched and his shoulders hunched, lips pressing together tightly. His cheeks felt hot and the corners of his eyes stung. His hands were combing through his hair now, gripping at the short strands before releasing them. His jaw ticked, his legs twitched minutely.

 

The locked window rattled loudly, the frames shook. The winds wanted to tear everything apart to get to him. Tim cried out. “No! Stop it! Stop it, please!” He reached out toward the window, his voice choked up.

 

The window stilled.

 

Tim breathed out a sigh of relief.

 

Just as how everything abruptly stopped, it started up again just as suddenly with twice the intensity. The winds beat against the glass barrier, the lock that stopped the window from opening turned with a click and then with another click, the lock was closed.

 

_Click. Click. Click. Click._

 

Opened. Closed. Opened. Closed.

 

The teenager had pulled his legs up in a fetal position, curling into himself as he rocked back and forth, his lips parted in senseless words. “Sorry. Please stop. I’m sorry. Leave me alone…” He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. A shadow hand appeared outside the window. Slowly, its index finger rose.

 

It tapped against the glass.

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 

“ _Let me in…_ ”

_“Red Robin… Come home…”_

_“Come back to us…”_

_“Let me_ in _…”_

 

Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. Tim’s lips parted again. This time, his voice weakened, a sense of defeat enveloped his small frame. “You’re not real… Please stop talking… Please stop doing this to me…”

 

He never turned the light off anymore, not since he realized that it was the only thing that stopped the voice from getting stronger, and the shadows from becoming bolder. The voice would tempt, demand and sometimes, order Tim to let it in but it could never touch him, not when he was surrounded by lights, even artificial ones.

 

So far, its attempts at seducing Tim had been fruitless.

 

But today, an unremarkable day after his talk with Dick, the voice was more determined than ever to get him to comply with its demand. It was hard to appear strong, not when pretending in front of other people had sapped him of all the energy he needed to fight his demons.

 

The lights above him flickered. Tim opened his eyes and slowly looked up, blinking the remained tears away. When the blackout finally happened, it was almost a relief. Tim felt the last of his strength gave away as darkness enveloped the room.

 

 _Click_.

 

Opened.

 

“ _Finally. My dark knight… My Red Robin… Mine…_ ”

 

* * *

 

Hearing things was the first sign of madness.

 

Tim started hearing things about a few months ago.

 

At first, it was at the most random moments that left Tim wonder if he was just imagining things or not. In a crowded area, someone would call out for him. When Tim turned around, there was no one there. People were doing their things, seemingly ignoring Tim. So who called his name?

 

Then, slowly, days passed and the voices would get louder, less discreet. Instead of a crowded area, Tim would hear words whispering against his skin in long dark halls of his family manor, or when he turned off the lights. It spoke things, too but Tim tried not to remember what it said. Mainly, it told him he was a deranged murderer… or something like that.

 

The voice got possessive.

_“Mine… You are all mine…”_

_“My child. My Red Robin.”_

_“My dark knight…”_

_“You are mine…”_

 

 _Always_ , after a claim of ownership over the voice’s apparent ‘knight’ or was it ‘knights’?, there would be this feeling of something sliding against Tim’s skin, something slimy and dark and _evil_ , a mark of ownership. It was an intimate process, Tim supposed. It was sweet nothingness and something like a lover’s embrace. However, instead of feeling reassured, Tim just felt dirty and disgusted.

 

Seeing things was the second sign of madness.

 

Tim started seeing things shortly after he admitted to himself that he was hearing voices.

 

Shadows danced upon his presence. Of course shadows could move, in the general sense. If he moved his limb, his own shadow would move that same limb. Shadow was just how the light being blocked by an object expressed itself. However, physics didn’t allow for shadows to move when an object didn’t.

 

Physics was apparently _wrong_.

 

Either that, or Tim had entered a dimension where nothing made sense anymore. As far as he was concerned, all his life, shadows had always made sense. They always did things they were supposed to be doing. Now, they didn’t. From the corners of his eyes, shadows moved. From another bigger shadow of an object, a shadowy hand would emerge, reaching forward to grab onto Tim’s own shadow. When Tim turned around to really _look_ , it seemed like nothing had changed.

 

If Tim wasn’t crazy before, he was definitely going a little bit insane with paranoia now.

 

The shadows then stopped being secretive around Tim. When he was alone, they would move, twisting into humanoid figures or sometimes, animals, demons, beasts, things of another world that wasn’t _real_. Tim had tried to record it, he tried to show it to his parents, but they all looked at him like he was going insane. The shadows never moved when they were around.

 

Tim might be in agreement with his parents’ assessment.

 

Having a voice inside one’s head was the third sign of madness.

 

The voice appeared a month ago. Like all the signs before that, Tim didn’t notice it. Not until it stopped hiding its presence. The voice, _his own voice_ , inserted the most disturbing thoughts inside his head. At first, it was little comments, things that he was not happy with but he never voiced it until the voice started voicing it for him.

 

“ _He’s annoying, he should die…_ ”

 

“ _I should definitely kill that kid to stop him from crying… He’s so loud I can’t concentrate on this book…_ ”

 

“ _Oh my god, stop acting like such a spoiled bitch…_ ”

 

Tim was so ignorant of the voice. He had one hundred problems to deal with to care that he was thinking aggressive thoughts. He had been in denial. The stress must be getting to him. It was just the exams. He was just annoyed because his private time with his boyfriend was interrupted by people… He would make up excuses and they all sounded reasonable in his head.

 

Then, the voice shattered that illusion.

 

It happened on a sunny day at the dog park. Tim was with his boyfriend, Conner and his dog.

 

Looking at his boyfriend who was giving him a silly, goofy, guileless look, Tim chuckled and waved his hand, watching the other roll around with his dog in a mock battle. _He will make a fine Lieutenant,_ Tim thought, _trusting, loyal, simple-minded and following orders without questions, yes, he will make a fine addition to the family._

 

Tim shook his head, snapping out of the strange thought.

 

What was that thought _about_? What did that even _mean_?

 

For the first time in a long time, Tim wasn't sure if he wanted to have the answers to those particular questions.

 

The thoughts had been so foreign, the concept was so strange that it couldn’t have been his own thoughts. He didn’t know what a Lieutenant was, well, he understood its meaning, but not in this context.

 

Denial wasn’t just a river in Egypt. Having a voice inside his head had been a hard pill to swallow, but in the end, Tim had been defeated. Denial, anger, bargain and then finally, the crushing acceptance.

 

If Tim was starting to think he was crazy before, now he _knew_ he was going mad.

 

Dreaming of things that didn’t happen was the fourth sign of madness.

 

Well, it was more of an additional sign. Dreaming of things wasn’t a sign of madness, not usually. But then, if Tim combined it with all the signs he had experienced, was still experiencing, it was a pretty solid sign.

 

The dreams started three weeks ago.

 

Memories that weren’t his would surface. Horrible things an imaginary person called Red Robin had done. The cruel person’s sinister advice that had destroyed hundreds of people would come in his dream like it was his own memories. Arguments with people that he didn’t know, hatred and dark pleasure at things people should not find pleasurable.

 

The thrill in drawing blood.

 

Or the displeasure of having a replacement.

 

_“Red Robin. Say Hello.” Nightwing smiled cheerfully as he nudged a figure behind him to step forward. Red Robin crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow in an unimpressed gesture when a child stepped out of Nightwing’s shadow. He wasn’t what Red Robin had been expecting when Nightwing said that he had found something really special._

_“…_ What _is it?” Red Robin asked. The child in front of him, he couldn’t be older than ten with how tiny he was, scowled. “… I mean…_ Who _is it?” He corrected at the disapproved look on Nightwing’s face._

_“_ This _… Is Dami. Say Hi to Red Robin, Dami. He’s our newest little brother. He’s blessed by Omul-Liliac like us. Isn’t he the_ cutest _?” Nightwing cooed, squishing the child’s face together happily like he was a cute stray Nightwing picked on the street._

_The child bit down on Nightwing’s finger hard enough to draw blood._

_“Owie. That’s mean, little D. Don’t be mean to me.” Nightwing pouted, watching the child snarl at him. If looks could kill, Nightwing would have been destroyed a thousand times by now. Granted, if looks could kill, none of them would be alive right now._

_Red Robin frowned. “Really…? The Darkness hasn’t informed me of a new Knight. Are you_ sure _about that?” He asked, feeling jealousy welled up. He was supposed to be the special child. He was supposed to be the Darkness’ youngest. Not this boy in front of him who only looked old enough to have finished kindergarten._

_The boy bared his teeth. They were stained red with Nightwing’s blood. “Say it to my face.” He said in a heavily accented voice. He snarled out a few phrases in a language Red Robin didn’t know. However, he was sure that whatever the boy said couldn’t have been flattering. It was evident by Nightwing’s traumatic gasp._

_“That’s so_ mean _, Dami!” He chided. “Well, Omul-Liliac hasn’t found it necessary to inform me if he’s a Knight or not, I think he was in a playful mood._ But! _But Red, you ought to find a Lieutenant soon, you can’t be too picky. And look at this_ delightful _bundle of_ joy! _He’s so deliciously_ Dark _. He will make a perfect Lieutenant for you.” Nightwing said cheerfully._

_Red Robin closed his eyes, trying to stamp down the growing headache. “I get that you want to… help. But I will pick my own Lieutenant, Nightwing. It’s supposed to be a private process, you just can’t… collect strays and expect me to take them in. You know that’s not how it works.” He sighed, looking down at the pissed off child._

Three days ago, another sign of madness appeared.

 

Losing memories was the fifth sign of madness.

 

Tim wasn’t sure what he did when he blacked out. All he knew was that when he came back to his sense, his fingers were caked with dry blood and dirt. He had been too scared to watch any news, the fear of accidentally killing anyone paralyzed him. He tensed every time people came knocking on the door. They could be the police, looking for him, or maybe they were employees from that awful asylum.

 

He was _so_ scared.

 

His boyfriend had tried his best, but in the end, he could only do so much. The shadow whispered praises in his ears, praises that Tim didn’t need nor want. He withdrew from Conner, shying away from people’s contact in fear that whoever touched him would touch the darkness inside him. He was afraid they would see the monster beneath a little boy’s skin and they would _fear_.

 

He was worse than a wolf wearing a sheep’s skin. He was a monster lurking in the depth of darkness. He was the abyss that stared back when the hero looked at him for too long.

 

Tim laughed at the concept of inner demons inside one’s body.

 

He was meaner than his demons.

 

* * *

 

Tim opened his eyes.

 

They were Dark.

 

“ _Red Robin…_ ”

 

Red Robin laughed softly, swinging his legs off of the bed as he made his way toward the light switch. The blackout had ended but it didn’t matter that the lights had come back up. What the Darkness needed to do had been done. Red Robin smirked, smoothing down the front of his chest. It was a scrawny body. A weak one. But Red Robin could still train it. Physical attributes could be trained. It hadn’t been pleasant forcing himself taking over his reincarnation’s mind completely instead of merging like normal, but he had the disadvantage of not having a Lieutenant for his convergence.

 

Red Robin looked around the room one last time before turning the lights off with a flick of his index finger. He walked toward the window and unlatched it, pushing it open as wide as he could. He laughed when the Darkness embraced him like an old friend. His Father. His mentor. Their Darkness.

 

“B, it’s good to feel you again…” Red Robin smiled, embracing the Darkness fully, smirking when he could feel Timothy Drake banged and slammed the locked door in his mind. Unlike Tim, Red Robin was confident and more experienced with the mind and magic. Tim was not getting out any time soon.

 

“ _My dark knight…_ ”

 

“I know. A Lieutenant. I need one.” Red Robin nodded. He smiled when the Darkness purred, pleased by the decision. “I _finally_ found one worthy to be mine. B, will you assist me?” He asked.

 

“ _Of course, child… Anything for you…_ ”

 

Of course the Darkness would agree. He would agree to everything as long as it brought out more darkness. He was a caring mentor. Red Robin flung open Tim’s wardrobe, frowning at the variety of choices he was presented with. It was more than lacking and all the outfits were not how he was comfortable with. Granted, he supposed outfits from _his_ time would be considered… strange in the modern world. He searched Tim Drake’s memories, leaving the other a shivering mess when he was done.

 

“This would have to do for now…” Red Robin lamented, stripping himself fully before reaching for a black hoodie, jeans and t-shirt. He would ask a servant to find him another suitable outfit later.

 

Putting on the oversized black hoodie last, Red Robin searched for a memory of Conner’s address. Ah, it was not too far from this manor, considering the fact that it was quite far from the general population. Red Robin took a small knife. It wasn’t quite a ritual knife, and it wasn’t _his_ knife, but he didn’t have most of his things with him right now. The Darkness said Oracle kept them because he didn’t have a Lieutenant. He would have to search for her soon. Pushing the door open, Red Robin made his way to the master bedroom where Tim Drake’s parents were sleeping. Severing all connections was a must.

 

He opened the door without bothering with knocking. His lips curled up in disgust at the two naked, sleeping figures. He walked up to the matriarch of the house, grabbing her long hair and pulled it back sharply. “Hello… _Mother_.” Red Robin smiled, looking down at the yelping woman whose eyes widened upon seeing Red Robin’s face.

 

“Timothy… Tim what’s wrong with you?” The woman asked, fear crept in her voice. Good, she wasn’t stupid. She knew when she was in real danger.

 

“Nothing. I’m better than I have been in years…” Red Robin purred, his other hand lashed out to grab onto the woman’s slim wrist when she attempted to reach out. He tightened his grip.

 

“Please stop, you’re scaring me…” The woman cried out.

 

Inside his mind, Tim cried. ‘ _I can’t help this awful energy…_ _Mother_ …’

 

Red Robin grinned. “Goddamn right, you _should_ be scared of me.”

 

The sounds woke Tim Drake’s father. It took him longer to realize the situation. Inside his mind, Tim Drake wailed. Red Robin chuckled. “You know, they say a parent’s love is endless… I suppose that means I can ask for your help one last time.” He said.

 

Not even showing one moment of hesitation, Red Robin slashed open the woman’s throat before moving over to do the same to the man. Blood welled up from the cuts. The injuries were lethal. The severed artery vein made the gush of blood _beautiful_.

 

Dipping his index and middle fingers in the man’s blood, Red Robin studied the red liquid before licking his fingers. He let out a small, thoughtful noise. “Not bad.” Red Robin smiled, watching the woman’s face contort in pain, wet gurgles replaced the words she wanted to say.

 

“Do please keep silent. My work requires a considerate amount of concentration.” Red Robin smiled, dipping his fingers in the blood again and began to paint a bloody circle on the floor. Water was his element. Blood was still a liquid, a very volatile and potent one. Thankfully, he had a long time to master the art of blood magic.

 

Red Robin hummed as he worked, drawing each sigil with careful strokes. He needed to contact the other servants first, perhaps even one of the other Knights to assist him. Then he would capture Conner and made him _his_. _Then_ he could begin his mission. Intel was his thing, and it had been quite a while since he had any real updates on the status of the ‘Light’. He couldn’t wait to see what they had cooked up while he was gone.

 

Red Robin smirked, closing the corpses’ eyes in a mockery of affection, smearing their eyelids with drying blood.

 

_Conner, my dear, I will make you mine. Wait for me._

 

_No. **Mine**. Don’t touch him._

 

Tim Drake snarled.

 

Red Robin smirked.

 

_Ours, then._

Red Robin couldn’t wait to finish the merge between him and his new persona ‘Tim Drake’. Soon enough, this pest of a conscience would cease to exist.

 

He would be himself again.

 

 _Wonderful_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
> 
> Cool air ghosted over Dick, whispering secrets.
> 
> He was in a room, lying on soft, cool sheets. The windows were open, allowing the sweet scent of dry thyme to creep in. The light was dying outside. Soon it would be dark.
> 
> He drank in the air, shifted.
> 
> And discovered that his hands were bound by silk.
> 
>  _Fuck_. He had to break free and _kill_ whoever had tied him.
> 
> Dick blinked. What had he just… had he just thought…?
> 
> It was really happening, wasn’t it? He was really losing himself.
> 
> The thought birthed a heavy shape in his gut. When he… changed, what would happen? Would he disappear into whoever he’d been? The few times he’d felt the memories creep up on him, it’d seemed like that. It was horrible. It was like everything he was, everything he believed in was sucked inside a vortex. Bits of him were still there, caught within the whirlwind, giving it some semblance of human shape, but the rest? Destruction. Chaos.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, two chapters in two days. I swear I can explain. I have a lot of Dick feels, okay? I always work faster when I have a general idea where I want this to go. And I have a pretty clear path for Dick hence the speed. I think you guys don't mind... do you?
> 
> Translation: All Romanian words this chapter
> 
> La dracu: Fuck  
> Rahat: Shit  
> Omul-Liliac: Batman  
> totul va fi bine: Everything'll be okay  
> minunat: wonderful
> 
> A glimpse into Nightwing's weapons: [Dual swords](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41-iF5ovufL._SX466_.jpg)

Sharp footfalls cast tremors across the hardwood floor. They echoed through Slade, creating a picture. Nightwing, running away from him, darting out the door.

 

Darkness.

 

Slade needed another body _now_.

 

Cool air whispered over him, taunting him with a hint of the late evening outside. He shifted and looked at the people in the diner.

 

One was alive and the other was dying. The serpent’s bite had been interrupted so it didn’t act as fast as it could have. Normally, that would be a problem but today, he counted that as a blessing from the Darkness. He swept toward the ground, moving toward the nearest source of warmth. All he needed was a direct contact between them.

 

An uneven pulse of magic flickered inside the body. It stabbed Slade, forcing him back.

 

Darkness. The body belonged to a converging mage.

 

Slade crept away from the body. With the mage’s convergence, he wouldn’t be able to get a grip of the bastard’s mind, whoever they were…

 

In this form, his vision was shadowed. The converging mage could be the unconscious man or Lois Lane. He hoped it was Lois Lane, the poison might be slowed down but if left alone, it could still kill her. That would get rid of one problem at least. With Nightwing’s awakening, he knew it was only a matter of time before the Knights’ counterparts, the Founders, rose as well. Unlike the Knights with the Darkness’ blessing, the Founders’ rebirth wouldn’t be a reincarnation. It would merely be the passing of magic from the previous Founders to the new generation of Founders. With how his evening was going, this might just be one of them.

 

The thought followed him as he headed for the hint of air near the exit. He had read Lois Lane’s _Requiem for the Darkness_. Mages might have debated whether or not she was a seer, but the servants didn’t. One day, the Darkness _would_ success in making a soul. The Knights would return, intending to protect it, and the Founders would try and stop them. Just the thought of them sent murderous intent up Slade’s spine and made him want to kill any mage he encountered while they were converging.

 

Unfortunately, today he couldn’t wait and dispose of whoever was there. He needed to find another body to catch up with Nightwing.

 

Chances were, wherever he had run off to, humans would be there. Slade hurried after his Knight.

 

He slipped beneath the door. The cool air he felt returned, enveloping him.

 

His awareness of the area sharpened. Six feet away from the parking lot, a car engine had just been turned off. A door opened, a shoe stepped down.

 

Slade slithered up and wrapped around soft leather.

 

The person – a man – looked down. He drew in a breath to scream.

 

And then Slade slipped into the seams of his shoe and sank into the man’s skin.

 

Within a moment, Slade was wrapped in black warmth that reminded him of sleep. The man’s soul tasted his devotion to the Darkness and fled the body.

 

Perfect.

 

The feel of air returned, and then Slade blinked. He was alive again, slumped against the steering wheel of a black Mercedes.

 

He smiled. After decades of doing the same thing over and over again, the experience had become his second nature. He moved into a new form like an infection, taking over the body, forcing the previous owner aside forcefully. Magic relied on elements, and the Darkness played on the natural order, blessing him, enabling him to live through a combination of water, blood and its blessing.

 

Slade ran a hand through his hair. Short, a buzzed cut. A quick glance at the mirror revealed the color – Black. He liked it. He focused back on the task at hand, looking for Nightwing.

 

He found him across the street, heading toward a bundle of building near the light.

 

Slade smirked. A charity clinic. He was trying to get the dying woman some help, how noble.

 

The most he would be able to do was to get himself held for questioning. With the damned mage converging behind him, Slade could not afford that to happen.

 

Slade glanced at the ignition. The keys weren’t there, so he began looking through his body’s things. What a messy person. Slade frowned in frustration, pushing aside paperwork and pens, expensive cellphone and- _Darkness_ , where the hell did the man put the damned keys?!

 

The thought made something inside him twist. Every single second he spent here cost Nightwing his chance. If Slade didn’t get him to safety, the mages would find him and destroy him.

 

Since Nightwing’s death, he had studied everything he could about the Darkness’ knights. It took the Darkness from hundreds to maybe thousands of years to gather enough power to bless a single mage and thus, each one was special. Each one had their unique destiny. Nightwing was its politician, Red Hood was its army, Red Robin was its scholar, and Robin was its general. Nightwing was the first born, he was meant to charm and build the Darkness its first base and in honor of that great trust, the Darkness had given him the commands of shadows.

 

Great power, great possibility and all that. Slade didn’t think Nightwing would have used Slade’s own shadow to break his neck, and was greatly amused by it despite the inconvenience it brought. He wasn’t a killer? Oh Nightwing, killing was always his first instinct.

 

Slade found the keys on the floor and muttered a curse toward the messy owner. He started the car, put it into drive and tore out of the spot.

 

He drove across the street, drawing his tattoos into a concentrated spot on his knuckles. One touch and Nightwing would be out for an hour. Hopefully, his devotion to the Darkness would help him from there.

 

As he approached, he hit the power windows. All four descended silently. Nice, he was tempted to keep the car.

 

Slade drove onto the sidewalk, cutting in front of Nightwing.

 

He stumbled into the car. His eyes – humans, sadly, with no hint of the darkness inside – stared back at Slade.

 

Slade grabbed his hair.

 

“Fuck…” Nightwing spoke in that dull, accentless voice. His fingers gripped at Slade’s wrist and bore down, clawing at the skin with the intensity of an animal backed into a corner. It sent sharp pain up Slade’s arm but he ignored it.

 

Slade tightened his grip to stop Nightwing from struggling. Movements whispered across his skin as the black spot travelled from his skin to Nightwing’s.

 

“No!”

 

“Shhhh,” he said, feeling Nightwing’s grip on his wrist ease and then fall away. The scratches he had made throbbed. Slade released his hair. “It’ll be okay.” He soothed.

 

“No…” Nightwing whispered and then slumped against the car.

 

Slade scooted to the opposite door and got out. His gift for revenge had come too soon. Later, after he had remembered himself, Slade would bring him someone else to kill.

 

Slade picked up the unconscious body with a fond smile on his face. This current body was weak, lacking the physical strength he preferred but he didn’t intend to keep this one long anyway. He gently situated Nightwing in the backseat, smoothing down his hair. Once Nightwing was comfortable enough, Slade took out the owner’s phone, pressing in a series of number.

 

The phone rang once. Twice.

 

“Yes?” A woman answered.

 

“It’s Deathstroke.” Now that Slade had Nightwing, he needed to surround him in shadow and darkness. “I’m going to need a lot of candles. White. Nothing fancy.”

 

* * *

 

Cool air ghosted over Dick, whispering secrets.

 

He was in a room, lying on soft, cool sheets. The windows were open, allowing the sweet scent of dry thyme to creep in. The light was dying outside. Soon it would be dark.

 

He drank in the air, shifted.

 

And discovered that his hands were bound by silk.

 

 _Fuck_. He had to break free and  _kill_  whoever had tied him.

 

Dick blinked. What had he just… had he just thought…?

 

It was really happening, wasn’t it? He was really losing himself. 

 

The thought birthed a heavy shape in his gut. When he… changed, what would happen? Would he disappear into whoever he’d been? The few times he’d felt the memories creep up on him, it’d seemed like that. It was horrible. It was like everything he was, everything he believed in was sucked inside a vortex. Bits of him were still there, caught within the whirlwind, giving it some semblance of human shape, but the rest? Destruction. Chaos.

 

People at least got a warning of when a tornado was coming. He, sadly, was the only warning anyone might get.

 

He was the only warning.

 

He had to get out.

 

Dick looked around. He was lying on a large bed with his arms tied into the posts. Dozens of white candles surrounding him, covering the space on the floor as well as the nightstands, they offered him smoldering whispers and dim glimpses of the room. There were two large bookshelves to his right. Two crows stared at him with their black beaded eyes, their legs were chained to the wood perch, and they were studying him from their cage with intelligent eyes. Three windows lined the wall to his left, offering him a glimpse of a tree and hillside. The cloth binding his hands was white, and there was a black splotch along the side of his left hand.

 

_La dracu._

 

 _Fuck_. Slade had given him one of his tattoos. If – when – he escaped…

 

When he escaped, would it help him find Dick? Would it make him pass out again? Or would it make him… could it make him want to stay?

 

No. It couldn’t do that. If it could, it would have done that already. Dick still wanted to leave, _badly_.

 

It had helped Slade incapacitate him though. If given a chance, it would do it again.

 

Fuck.

 

Dick tugged at the restrain, feeling the dull burn-like pain along his wrists. He yanked and twisted, fighting past the pain. He had to get away from here. From Slade. He was a fanatic. He had gotten into his head that he and Dick were best buddies. He would kill and jump body and then wait for him to remember whatever that it was Slade wanted him to remember…

 

He also tied a good knot.

 

A cool breeze seeped in through the windows, making the flames sway gently.

 

And creating shadows.

 

They danced across the wall, moving to the wind’s subtle music.

 

Dick slumped back against the bed and watched them. Excitement crept through him. He had taken control of the shadows before. If he could do it now and get them to untie him, he could escape.

 

He willed them to move, to come to life. Help him. Untie him. Grab that stain on his skin and keep it from hurting him.

 

Nothing happened. The shadows shifted teasingly but remained on the wall.

 

_Rahat._

 

He frowned. Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

Dick tugged at his bonds harder. He didn’t know Romani. He was Romanian as well as his parents but he had buried the language after _the fall_. He never tried to learn it since then. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he was afraid he would do more than cursing in a language he had forgotten.

 

_“You’re the Darkness’ knight. By tomorrow evening, you’ll return to it.”_

 

No. Lois didn’t know him. She wrote books, make believe worlds, people that didn’t exist.

 

She had known Slade though. His biology, how his power worked… She had known so much, in fact, that he had killed her for it.

 

Dick shuddered. What if the other things she wrote were real as well? Now he remembered why she looked so familiar. Some of his co-workers had been obsessed with her work. Something about King Arthur fighting against a zombie army? What if it was real? What if the Planet was run by _vampires_?

 

“I trust you are mostly comfortable.”

 

Dick turned. The door had been pushed open while he was distracted and a man with black hair came in, a candle holder in his hand. Dick didn’t know him, but he doubted he knew many men that captured him and tied him to a bed post, either. So this was the new victim of Slade’s game.

 

“And if I said no?” Dick asked, narrowing his eyes. He had one steel gray eye. There was no more doubt.

 

“When you are yourself again, I will undo them myself.”

 

Dick scowled. Great.

 

But wait a minute… Slade had come after him pretty quickly… Lois was dead but the other man… Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was safe.

 

“What-?” No. He would not ask him. He could not risk Slade going back and killing that other man as well.

 

“Yes?” Slade asked.

 

“I’m not into _sex games_.” Dick finally settled, turning away.

 

Slade chuckled. “Not right now, I imagine.” He said with a smirk. He continued before Dick could say anything. “Before I left the diner, I sensed that one person was dying.” Slade said. “Fifty- Fifty percent chance that it was Lane.”

 

One hundred-zero chance, really. Dick hated it.

 

Slade moved toward Dick, brushing his hair back softly. It was a tender touch. Dick jerked away from the contact. “I’ll look into it. If she’s still alive–”

 

“Why would it matter?” It was odd to pretend that Lois was alive. But if it helped the other guy, he would do it. “She writes stories. Fictions.” Dick pointed out.

 

“Yes. And no.”

 

“So you are saying the Planet is run by vampires? Or that King Arthur fought against an army of zombies?” Dick asked, looking at Slade skeptically. He hated how the conversation flowed so easily between them. It was mostly biting words from his part, but still, there was this easy camaraderie between them that Dick couldn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand.

 

Slade chuckled. “You shouldn’t believe everything Lane wrote.”

 

Then she wasn’t always right? Relief cut through him. Maybe she was wrong about him, too. Maybe he wasn’t going to become a baby-eating, parent-killing monster. Slade must have mistaken the look on Dick’s face for something else because he moved to reassure him. “Don’t worry. She has never written about you. Your past is safe.”

 

No. It wasn’t. It was dangerous and Dick wished more people knew about it so that they could defend themselves against him.

 

Slade picked up something from the nightstand. Candlelight bounced off the surface. It was something metal. He approached Dick again. “I kept them for you.” He said, holding out two metal sticks.

 

Dick stared at the glinting metal.

 

Slade shrugged, fiddling something before tugging off the metal caps to reveal a pair of identical dual swords, the sharp edges reflected the light. They were in perfect, pristine condition. If Dick was honest with himself, which he wasn’t, the design was beautiful as well… There was some sort of elegance in it, a sleek design that served all purposes and could switch from lethal to non-lethal with just a few movements.

 

Dick stared at them. He… he had kept two swords hidden inside what appeared to be identical to his nightstick. What kind of monster had he been?

 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

 

“I suspect I was compensating for something.” Dick muttered.

 

Slade laughed. “I doubt it. Though, in all honesty, your partners rarely lived to see the morning so…” He shrugged.

 

“Shit.” He _killed_ his partners?

 

“I doubt there were many complains.” Slade sheathed the metal caps over the swords, hiding them from Dick’s eyes. He set them back on the nightstand with a soft clink. “I found them after…” His voice trailed off.

 

“After I’d killed someone?” Dick supplied helpfully.

 

“No.” His voice softened, there was something sad in his eyes now. “After your death.”

 

The words, the tone, the way Slade spoke made Dick feel… odd. The memory had hurt Slade. He was… He didn’t know. Touched. Sad.

 

Terrified. This wasn’t about him. This was about Nightwing. This was about the guy that killed his partners after he bedded them for _fun_.

 

The guy who was inside of him.

 

“I’ve had some experience with convergence,” Slade began finally, looking up at Dick again. “Obviously, I have never had one myself, but I have seen some people gone through it, people that were touched by the Darkness. I helped them through it so that I could be prepared to help you.” Slade explained as if it made everything better. A twisted part inside Dick _did_ feel better about it though.

 

“Soon, you’ll experience a dream-like trance, where you remember your old life. The essence of your old life, who you were, will merge with who you are now. If you resist, the memories will fight for dominance, and you will be consumed by them or locked up inside your head forever.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“You, as you are now, will cease to exist.”

 

Cease to…

 

The words chilled Dick. Cease to exist. He would become that monster again. He would kill people and not care.

 

Slade carefully navigated his way through the maze of candles, his movements were graceful as he approached Dick closer, brushing his hair again. Dick couldn’t fight against the urge to lean into the comforting touch this time, even if it was from someone whom he should not find comfort in. “It’s going to be okay, Nightwing. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you have a _Lieutenant_ , that’s why you have _me_. I will make sure that it will be a merge, not a fight for dominance. I will help you accept yourself. Trust me.” Slade said softly. “I’m the most competent Lieutenant, I will not let you down.”

 

Instead of replying, Dick dug his nails into his palms, using the dull throb of pain to focus on instead of Slade. He stared at Slade’s shadow, willing it to attack the man again. Just like the last time. _Do something._

 

Nothing.

 

“They are not going to obey you. Not until you’ve opened yourself to your power.” Slade said, following Dick’s eyes and smiled at the shadows.

 

Dammit.

 

“For all your protestations, you are still Nightwing.” Slade said. “You are still the man I’m proud to call _my Knight_.”

 

“No, I’m not.” Dick said, swallowing a lump at the words. What did that even mean? Being a Knight wasn’t something to be proud of. Killing people was evil. It wasn’t an achievement. No one should be proud of it. _No one_. “I’m Dick Grayson. I’m… I’m a cop. I don’t kill…”

 

“On the contrary…” Slade smiled. “Killing has always been your first instinct.”

 

Bastard. He did _not_ … Dick gritted his teeth. Slade was right though, wasn’t he?

 

Slade leaned down and pressed a hand on Dick’s forehead. It was a grounding touch. He whispered in Dick’s ear. “Shhh, _totul va fi bine_.” Dick’s mind translated. _Everything would be okay_. Dick squeezed his eyes shut like he could just block everything out if he couldn’t see it. “I’ll send someone to keep an eye on you and bring you water when you need it. I will return shortly to see how you’re faring.” He mumbled in Dick’s ear.

 

Slade rose and drew away, disappearing into the blackness beyond the candle flames. “We’ll talk soon.”

 

Dick frowned. He hoped not.

 

Outside of sheer stubbornness, though, he didn’t know if he could honestly say that. Slade thought he knew him. In a way, Dick supposed he was right. Slade did know him, though it was just a part. He was a murderer. He was a performer, a flying Grayson. A Knight of Darkness. A cop.

 

Fuck… _Who_ was he now?

 

* * *

 

A breeze tumbled over Dick. It teased at his shirt, peeking beneath the cloth to drink his warmth.

 

Shhhh.

 

Odd. It sounded like the wind was-

 

_Shhhh._

 

-talking.

 

The air around Dick grew chill. A moment later, the breeze coiled around him, licking at his skin. “ _Shhhh…_ ” A tendril of cold rubbed his cheek softly, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear. “ _Nighhhttt_ …”

 

Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_. The wind was really trying to talk to him.

 

The candle flame around Dick trembled, crouching low as if hiding. The wind – something was in the wind. Something alive and _hungry_.

 

“ _Shhh… Nightwing… It’ll be okay…_ ”

 

 _Omul_ – Darkness…

 

“ _My Knight… My first born… I’m so proud of you… Shhh…_ ”

 

No.

 

Dick tugged harder at his bonds. He needed to get out _now_. Fuck. He _needed_ to get out. Slade had been scary but _this_ – The air faded, leaving his skin feeling cold. Haunted. He tugged at the bonds, ignoring the way they tugged at his skin, tearing it. He didn’t care how much damage he was doing to himself. All it mattered was getting out of here still _Dick Grayson_.

 

The bonds held tight.

 

Fuck fuckity fuck.

 

A whisper of movements traced over his wrists. It was warm, gentle. Dick jerked his wrists, looking up.

 

The splotch he’d seen along his hand had moved, and was now snaking across both of his wrists, drinking the pain away, licking at his blood. Dick closed his eyes and turned his head away. The wind had woken it up, hadn’t it? Would it help him remember now?

 

Dick’s eyelids grew heavy suddenly.

 

He blinked rapidly. No. No he could not sleep. He would not sleep. He wanted to fight but he was tied up and the shadows weren’t responding. They danced around him, twisting and turning, taking almost human shapes. They were horrible and… beautiful… oh so very, very… _minunat_ …

 

* * *

 

 

…Nightwing sighed as he leaned against a palm tree. It would be pretty rude to start a slaughter here but he was really tempted to release some bent up stress. One of his contacts had promised to meet him in Cairo. However, he was told that the meeting would be delayed _a little bit_ because it was unsafe right now. ‘A little bit’ turned out into most of the day and if he had to stay in the outskirt of Cairo for the night, he would _kill_ his contact.

 

Nightwing tugged on the cloak around him, pulling the hood over his head to cover himself from the biting desert wind that tossed sand over his shoes, leaving them uncomfortable to walk in. Omul-Liliac granted him patience. If it wasn’t because the Darkness told him there was something, _someone_ , special in this place, he would never set one step here. As of now, he already debated on just going through everyone with his swords until that special someone turned up.

 

 _That_ … would be terribly rude though. Nightwing gently ran his index finger down his crows’ head, smoothing down a few ruffled feathers. The Darkness, as if sensing his discomfort, wrapped him up in a cocoon of gently cool air that soothed his temper. Soft whispers and kisses pressed into Nightwing’s exposed skin like an apology.

 

Nightwing sighed. He still had to meet up with Red Robin after this was over. His pseudo brother was surely going to be displeased if whatever that had occupied Nightwing’s time wasn’t worth it. Sometimes he wished Red Hood hadn’t just disappeared completely off the map. He had this uncanny ability to distract Red Robin through childish squabbles.

 

“ _Shhh… Nightwing… My first born… My obedient Knight… My sweet, sweet son… Come._ ” The Darkness commanded. Omul-Liliac had heard him. Nightwing smiled and looked around him one last time, making sure that no one was tailing him. If the Darkness had ordered him to follow, then Nightwing would follow, even if it was to his own death.

 

The Darkness protected its own. Omul-Liliac would protect him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
> 
> “My pleasure.” Nightwing took the book. He wondered what secrets were in the other book.
> 
> Then, he looked at the object in his hands and forgot about the other one. Blood dotted the cover.
> 
> Nightwing traced two long fingers over the soft leather. Red crescents lay near the top right corner, another on the spine, and two on the bottom. The marks were too subtle to have been borne of an accident.
> 
> He could think of only one reason why a mage would shed blood onto paper.
> 
> “Is this yours?” he asked. His tone was quiet. Beside Red Robin, he’d never met anyone who could draw with their own blood, and even Red Robin had never drawn with his own blood without a purpose. It was such a _wickedly_ dark gift.
> 
> “Yes,” Dami said, dropping his now empty satchel into Nightwing’s hand. “I was showing it to my mentor when the hunters attacked.” As if feeling the need to clarify himself, the child continued. “It’s not… I’m not practicing blood magic. My Element is Earth…”
> 
> Nightwing smiled. Oh Dami, he had never needed to defend himself to Nightwing. This deliciously Dark gift should be treasured, not defended against. And Dami’s element was Earth? How intriguing. He wondered what the child could do with Earth if this was what he came up with using an Element that wasn’t his.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstory time and the first explanation of how the magic in this verse works. I hope you guys like this chapter. I'm quite... conflicted about it. Much longer than the last one ;)
> 
> Translation:
> 
> Frumoasa: Beautiful  
> Omul-Liliac: Batman  
> Rahat: Shit  
> La dracu: Fuck  
> Mulțumesc: Thank you  
> savant de întuneric: scholar of the Darkness
> 
> P/S: After reading the chapter, how many of you can guess what the hunters' weapon is?

Time ceased its meaning after one had lived for too long. Nightwing would know. He was born in the Bronze Age, around the 21st century BC in a land that would become Roman’s and later, much later, Romania’s. He had long forgotten his own name, a sound that was difficult to pronounce. He didn’t remember most of his early memories, only the constant presence of the Darkness as it cocooned him in its shadows, whispering to him secrets no human should be privy to.

 

How he met the Darkness was a fading memory as well. He vaguely remembered slipping away from his parents to run under the moonlight. He remembered getting lost. He remembered feeling scared. He remembered the seemingly never-ending darkness that warped around him, promising that it would lead him home if he could just keep it company. That was the last of his clear memories. He might have said yes first before the Darkness led him home on a trail of shadow and moonlight, or perhaps, the Darkness had led him home first before he agreed to befriend it.

 

The rest of his early memories were a blur, flashes of experience that he couldn’t arrange correctly. There were times where the Darkness would tell him stories, give him knowledge. There was also the first time Nightwing practiced magic, the vilest source of sorcery the people in that time era would fear. He might have also been given the name Nightwing around those first years.

 

One memory stood out though. While he still could not put it in the correct order, he remembered the entire event. He had come home after a practice session with the Darkness, clothes tattered and his eyes Dark. His parents feared him. He had known that fact for a while now. They avoided him, they avoided talking to him. They even avoided meeting his eyes.

 

It was the first time they had ever raised a weapon against him though. The Darkness had been furious with them. Its Knight was to be treasured, not attacked. Its child was to be served, not gone against. The Darkness guided his hand as Nightwing slipped into its grip. He had grabbed a sharp weapon, a metal stick that he had stolen from his own parents and used it to attack them.

 

Red blood welled up from their wounds but Nightwing didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop until there were two corpses staring back at him with glassy eyes, their stomachs torn open and their viscera strewed over the floor.

 

Nightwing hadn’t known what to do with it when everything was so _red_ and nothing was alive anymore.

 

The Darkness had hugged him tenderly though. The Darkness was all he needed now. There was no one else to hold him back. No obstacles, no sentimental beings that could stop him. His mentor wiped away Nightwing’s tears, and told him that it would give him shadow and air. The Darkness had blessed him with its Element and given him another as his own.

 

Nightwing was lucky.

 

An Element needed a conduit though. Later on, human race would call it ‘wands’ but it didn’t necessarily have to be a long stick. The Darkness blessed the corpses of his very _dead_ parents. It guided him through the ritual, his own blood, his parents’ hearts and brains, crow corpses, rare herbs, chants, sigils, a touch of darkness and that was the birth of the first familiars.

 

Nightwing stroked over the twin crows that he had created using a ritual of the abyss, smiling gently as beaded eyes looked at him, as intelligent as a human.

 

He named them Primul for ‘the First’ and Doilea for ‘the Second’.

 

His parents lived on inside the avian.

 

It was ironic that his parents, who feared magic so fiercely that they tried to kill their son, would become his conduit.

 

The weapon he had used to murder his parents had its use as well. Under his mentor’s guidance, Nightwing had molded the metal into a proper weapon. Two swords hidden under a metal cap disguised to look harmless. It was an intricate design for that era.

 

They were also Nightwing’s current weapons. He could never get rid of them. They held too many memories and even if the form of the weapons shifted over the years as Nightwing designed then re-designed them, add more to them to suit the time, the core metal was never changed. It was still that same metal he used to take his first lives.

 

Years went by in fast blurs, so many things happened. Knights rose and Knights fell. Nightwing was always there though. He had lived through the era of his brother, the Red Hood, and then he was still there when the third Knight, Red Robin, rose. There was also his not-really sister, Spoiler, a Knight not chosen by the Darkness and never made it into history books but still accepted into the family. And now, _now_ the Darkness commanded him to visit Egypt on a special trip. Nightwing suspected his mentor might have another brother or sister for him to dote on…

 

* * *

 

… He opened his eyes.

 

Shadows danced across the walls around him. The sight was beautiful, inviting him to join them. Nightwing began to sit up, stopping when his hands yanked him back down.

 

He scowled at the white silk binding his wrists to the bed posts. Who would dare?

 

A figure rose from the corner.

 

A familiar sound alerted him of his beloved crows. They were close. Close enough to be used as his conduit. One crow, it must be Primul, flapped his wings as if sensing his presence and Nightwing sent a breath of magic out, capturing the figure’s shadow. No one left him like this.

 

The man’s shadow twitched, then stepped forward, snaking its lengthening fingers around the man’s neck. One twist –

 

_Snap._

 

The sharp sound stabbed Nightwing. Memories swept through him. A wounded black-haired woman, his shadow, a smiling elderly woman with snake tattoos twining around her arms. She… He…

 

He was dear to him. And dangerous. He’d tied him and left him there because…

 

He was Dick Grayson.

 

The shadow released the body, letting it fall to the ground with a dull _thud_.

 

Dick stared after it. _Darkn-_

 

 _Dammit_. He had killed someone. It was one of Slade’s followers, true, but the man hadn’t threatened anyone. He was just a goon. Dick couldn’t believe he had just…

 

It didn’t matter if he believed or if he even liked it. This was him. He was Nightwing and he killed when he was frightened, startled, bored, inconvenienced.

 

No. Not bored. Not inconvenienced. Not for stupid reasons.

 

Not anymore.

 

He needed to get out of here though, before more memories returned. Alone, he was dangerous; With Slade by his side, he didn’t know what he would do. He was afraid he would lose whatever was left of him.

 

The candle flames around him trembled and then shadow-hands wove across the wall and along the bed post. Dark fingers breathed across his skin. Slowly, the binding around his wrists loosened.

 

Dick laid one hand, then the other, on his chest, clenching then relaxing his fingers. Feelings slowly returned to combat the numbness. He didn’t know how long he had laid here.

 

He pushed himself up, biting back another sound of frustration when he looked down at the maze of candles at his feet. There was a considerable amount of wax and the candles had shortened quite a bit as well. How long had he been here?

 

“ _You’re the Darkness’ knight. By tomorrow evening, you will return to it._ ”

 

The words chilled him to the core. He knew that it wasn’t a lie now. Already, he could feel his grip on reality slipping again. Quickly. He must do something. Anything. If he couldn’t run then he _needed_ to send the words out somehow.

 

He needed to do something before it was too late and all that was left behind was Nightwing, the loyal, obedient son blessed by Darkness.

 

Decision made, Dick navigated through the maze of candles, shaking his head at the wave of dizziness that made him sway. _Focus_.

 

He searched the dead man’s pocket, pulling out an old fashioned phone. With shaky fingers, Dick dialed. Wally. His best friend. The only one he could trust in this situation.

 

The phone rang. Once.

 

“Hello?” Wally’s voice had never sounded so sweet before.

 

Dick choked. “It’s me, Dick. Wally – I…” He took a deep breath, fighting back a wave of sleepiness as the wind shushed and tried to pull him back into its hold.

 

“Dick? What’s wrong? Are you okay? You sound strange.” Wally’s voice was immediately filled with concern. Dick couldn’t help the sweet relief that filled him. Someone knew his name. This was not a dream. Dick Grayson was real.

 

“I don’t have much time. Listen.” Dick said urgently. “Whatever I say after this phone call is _not_ to be trusted.” He searched his cloudy mind for the right words to say. “I’ll be turned into something dangerous. I won’t be myself. You need to – You need to read up on Lois Lane’s work. Anything about the Darkness. I’m Nightwing. You need to tell people that it’s coming back. You need to… Need to…”

 

It took a lot of effort to speak. Dick’s knees buckled and hit the ground. His voice got weaker with each word.

 

Wally was shouting now. Words that didn’t make sense to Dick.

 

“Dick?! Dick! Stay with me! I need to do what?! _Dick_?!!”

 

The phone slipped from Dick’s slackened grip and connected with the floor. Dick’s body followed shortly. The phone call abruptly ended with Wally’s voice still shouting on the other side.

 

“ _Darkness…_ ” Dic – Nightwing whispered, letting tendrils of shadow wrapped around his fingers.

 

 _Frumoasa_. Beautiful…

 

* * *

 

Nightwing used to doubt. He had been afraid that a new Knight meant that Omul-Liliac would pay less attention to him. He should have had more faith in his mentor. Omul-Liliac was fair and he divided his attention equally. He might even love Nightwing a little more than the others. For that, Nightwing was grateful. He tried to love his brothers and sister the same as the Darkness had loved him.

 

Now, in an unfamiliar land of not-so-Ancient-Egypt, Nightwing doubted again. He didn’t doubt the Darkness’ love this time, but Omul-Liliac had a wicked sense of humor. He could have just dragged Nightwing on a wild goose chase in order for him to get some ‘fresh air’. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened. Perhaps there was indeed someone or something special, but not special enough to occupy Nightwing’s attention.

 

Red Robin would not be happy about the delay. Though Nightwing wondered if he gifted his brother some books from the beautiful, cherished Library of Alexandria, would Red Robin be less angry? He hoped so. Red Robin was the Darkness’ scholar through and through. He wouldn’t deny a book.

 

A small cramp in his stomach alerted Nightwing of his hunger. It had been hours since he last ate and from the look of the setting sun, it seemed that he needed food again. It was an inconvenience how his body always needed supplies but in rare times, Nightwing found comfort in the very human needs. He might have lived for a long time now, his body stopped aging at the prime age for human male but he was still human enough to want to eat, to have needs.

 

Still, at times like this, when Nightwing didn’t want to be bothered by the petty needs, the hunger was a distraction. He withdrew a gold key from a hidden pocket inside his cloak and unlocked the chains that held his crows in place. He touched each of them gently, sending a soft pulse of magic through soft feathers. They regarded him with a look before they flew off his shoulders.

 

One of them would find him food and the other would alert him of any human presence nearby.

 

Task done, Nightwing sat down on the uncomfortable sandy ground, shifting every so often. He hated sands. They got into his clothes, his shoes, they itched and they always coated a layer on his hands that made him feel unclean.

 

There was a sound of wings beating against air and Nightwing stretched out his arm, letting the male crow, Primul, landed on the makeshift perch, talons digging into his skin.

 

The crow was carrying a fish in his mouth. Good.

 

Nightwing smiled and plucked the fish from his mouth, petting the crow in appreciation. He collected a few broken twigs and piled them together so he could create fire.

 

His second crow, the female one, Doilea, let out a loud sound that cut through the sky. Nightwing bit back a curse. There was someone else here. If it was the escort, Nightwing really considered doing something terrible to them. He sighed, feeding his crow the fish before standing up.

 

The crow hopped on his shoulder and stayed there.

 

There was a distinct sound of footsteps. It was a fast beat. Someone was running.

 

Nightwing turned around.

 

A figure stumbled out between the palm trees. The figure, a _him_ , cladded in traditional clothes, white tunic that reached his ankles and a white headdress as well. He kicked up sand as he ran. The ‘him’ was too young to be any older than fifteen, stopped when he spotted Nightwing. He looked up slowly.

 

 _Darkness_. He was _beautiful_.

 

The boy had black midnight hair, his eyes a shade of dark blue-green like that of a gemstone, and the face of an avenging angel. His skin was sun kissed, a healthy shade of brown that spoke of hours bathing under Cairo’s sun. His clothes were dirty, but the material looked like it had once been exquisite. Gold threads wove around the hem of the tunic and around his neck and the headdress. He looked like a prince.

 

He was also clutching a wand in his hand.

 

“Are you well?” Nightwing asked in Arabic. The language had gotten rusty with Nightwing’s lack of use and the sound that came out of his lips was heavy, grating. However, it would have to do for now.

 

The boy’s wand hand trembled. “Yes. No.”

 

Nightwing fought a smile. The boy was a contradiction, how amusing. “Who are you?” The Knight asked.

 

“Dami.” The boy, Dami, answered warily. His beautiful eyes focused on Nightwing, making him shiver pleasantly. There was a sort of hidden _something_ inside the boy. It intrigued Nightwing greatly. The boy’s lips parted in a soft sound that Nightwing recognized as an incarnation, his hand clutched the wand tighter. A few moments later, Nightwing’s skin prickled.

 

Annoyance crept down Nightwing’s spine. The boy was checking him for magic. Did Nightwing’s power not lap at the boy’s senses?

 

“That’s a waste of a spell,” Nightwing said, pulling the hem of his cloak to show Dami the clever sigils that had been sow into the cloth. “Protection sigils.” He said simply.

 

Dami stared at the sigils for a moment before dragging his eyes away. His voice hardened slightly. “You have to run.”

 

Did he now?

 

Nightwing crossed his arms. He did not know whom this beautiful boy was running from, but whatever it was, it could not have been important. His contract had told him that this land was safe for their kind. While his escorts really needed to work on their speed, he trusted that they were competent enough. “Why?”

 

“Witch hunters are coming.”

 

Nightwing’s eyebrows went up. “Pardon?” He asked. Witch hunters didn’t hunt _their_ kind. They hunted old ladies with odd herbs. They hunted careless seers that couldn’t keep their gifts a secret. They hunted people who could do petty tricks, not _real_ mages.

 

Dami knelt down on the ground and scooped up a handful of sand, letting the grains slip through the gaps between his fingers. He looked back up at Nightwing. His eyes turned a bit greener. The anger intensified. “Witch hunters are coming. My mentor and I encountered them while we were travelling to Cairo. They killed her.”

 

Impossible.

 

Nightwing let his hand fall to his side. He didn’t know Cairo well, but he did know that there was a fairly large mage community in the city where the Nile supplied the land with its wonderful water. The magic was rich here. There were a few servants of Darkness here as well. Nightwing could not believe that the witch hunters could destroy one of them, let alone multiple.

 

Dami studied his face. As if sensing something, the boy continued. His voice sounded choked with restrained emotions. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, either.” He tipped his head back toward the case strapped over his shoulder. “The weapon steals magic though.”

 

No.

 

Nightwing approached him. A human could never be able to create such a thing. Dami must be confused.

 

This close, Nightwing realized that Dami was far _more_ than what he appeared to be at first glance. The beauty was still there, but beneath his long eyelashes were hidden anger, a bright, sharp sort of temper that could cut through steel and a hint of hatred that would make the Darkness proud. It was intoxicating.

 

He was a little spitfire.

 

Nightwing wished to see that temper in action.

 

With a simple command, Primul hopped from his shoulder to the wooden box. He sent a pulse through his conduit, just a gentle poke, like as a breath of fresh air.

 

“Don’t.” Dami said as he rose. Nightwing could see protective sigils woven throughout his clothes as well. Subtle. Expensive. He was someone’s cherished pet. “It killed Roy and my mentor.” He said urgently.

 

“I want to see it.” Nightwing said simply. The crow, obedient as ever, stayed rooted on the spot.

 

The sliver of magic snaked deeper, sinking into the wood. It touched metal-tipped shape –

 

A wave of dizziness swept over Nightwing. Cold crept up his fingers and spread across his arm. The weapon was really drinking his magic. Nightwing broke away. “ _Darkness._ ” He bit out a curse.

 

Dami shook his head. “I don’t think it belongs to the Darkness.” Nightwing smoothed down his expression. He didn’t want to alert Dami that he knew for sure that it had nothing to do with Omul-Liliac. His mentor would never create something so vile.

 

Dami suddenly turned, pointing his wand at the crow that had taken its usual space on Nightwing’s shoulder. The boy was pretty but a little bit too frightened to think clearly. Nightwing couldn’t wait for that fear to die down so he could catch a glimpse of the personality beneath it. He was sure that whatever he discovered would be amusing.

 

Nightwing waved his hand. “Relax, my familiar will not attack you.” He said.

 

Dami didn’t drop his guard. “I put up a spell to search for unusual things. Your pet… it’s not… _normal_.” The boy said. “And you haven’t taken out your wand yet. Can you do wandless magic?” He asked.

 

Nightwing failed to smooth down the twitch of his lips. There was no such thing as wandless magic.

 

Well, he supposed the lack of a wand could be counted as _wandless_ magic, but every little bit of spell needed a conduit to work properly. He believed the boy was asking if he could do conduit-less magic or not, which he couldn’t. No one could. His brief control over the shadows without his crows was granted by Omul-Liliac, not from the power within him.

 

How humans had fallen into such predictable patterns. What flawed logics. If a mage didn’t carry a long stick with them, they could do conduit-less magic. “My familiars are my conduit.” Nightwing said.

 

“Oh.” The boy said. He still looked wary but there was this child-like curiosity in his eyes as well. “I have never seen a mage like you before.” He said finally. Of course Dami couldn’t have seen a mage like him before. He was a Knight of Darkness, not something that one could see every day.

 

“Can I… touch it?” Dami asked, gesturing toward the crow.

 

Nightwing tipped his head back, looking at his crow. He inclined his head.

 

The crow hopped down on Dami’s shoulder, digging his talons to the boy’s shoulder. Primul didn’t move when Dami raised a hand to touch the soft feathers. “It’s beautiful.” He said softly.

 

“ _Mul_ _ț_ _umesc_.” Nightwing replied. _Thank you_. He meant it. So many people found crows a symbol of death and misfortunes. Rarely did they see the intelligence in such a species.

 

“We should move.” Dami said. Nightwing nodded. It seemed like the best course of action right now. He needed to get this new ‘weapon’ back to Red Robin for studying. He looked at the heavy satchel the boy carried.

 

“I have room in my case. I can carry whatever you have in your bag. It might allow you to move faster.” Nightwing offered.

 

Dami’s fingers twitched. He looked conflicted. For a moment, Nightwing wondered if he was going to say no. That would be wise though. You couldn’t trust people too much, not in this era where everyone was ready to sell you to the nearest witch hunter.

 

After a moment of debate, Dami reached a conclusion. He withdrew two books. The small one he slipped into a hidden pocket inside his fine garments. The other he held out for Nightwing. “Thank you.”

 

“My pleasure.” Nightwing took the book. He wondered what secrets were in the other book.

 

Then, he looked at the object in his hands and forgot about the other one. Blood dotted the cover.

 

Nightwing traced two long fingers over the soft leather. Red crescents lay near the top right corner, another on the spine, and two on the bottom. The marks were too subtle to have been borne of an accident.

 

He could think of only one reason why a mage would shed blood onto paper.

 

“Is this yours?” he asked. His tone was quiet. Beside Red Robin, he’d never met anyone who could draw with their own blood, and even Red Robin had never drawn with his own blood without a purpose. It was such a _wickedly_ dark gift.

 

“Yes,” Dami said, dropping his now empty satchel into Nightwing’s hand. “I was showing it to my mentor when the hunters attacked.” As if feeling the need to clarify himself, the child continued. “It’s not… I’m not practicing blood magic. My Element is Earth…”

 

Nightwing smiled. Oh Dami, he had never needed to defend himself to Nightwing. This deliciously Dark gift should be treasured, not defended against. And Dami’s Element was Earth? How intriguing. He wondered what the child could do with Earth if this was what he came up with using an Element that wasn’t his.

 

After fire, which was mostly an accident, mages had tried to weave magic into blood. It made sense. Blood was accessible. Even in a dry land without water, one only needed a knife to draw blood. If the mages could weave magic into blood then they could have a very resourceful type of magic at their disposal.

 

Blood was volatile though. It was too chaotic. As it cooled, the spell would alter. Nightwing knew. He was there when Red Robin attempted to create his first bout of blood magic. Red Robin had been a master of Water then, young and arrogant, he had thought he could control blood the same as he could control water.

 

The result had been formless, mindless creatures that attacked everything they came across, forcing both Nightwing and Red Robin to destroy them in a bloody mess. It had been disastrous. Red Robin had learned his lesson though so Nightwing counted that as a good accident.

 

He wondered if Dami had ever attempted to bring his drawings to life and what the first results had been like.

 

“Have you ever considered using their own weapon against them?” Nightwing asked casually.

 

“That’s vile.” Dami said. Nightwing studied him.

 

That wasn’t a ‘no’.

 

Wasn’t quite a ‘yes’, either.

 

“They’re the one who created it. I imagine that it must work rather quickly.” Nightwing pointed out. “A little innocent to think that they will hesitate to use it against you. Do you think they care?” He asked.

 

The ‘no’ he received from Dami felt like a victory.

 

Nightwing thought back on the conversation. Dami had said a name. “You said it killed Roy.” He crossed his arms. It could be a coincidence. There were a lot of people named Roy. Darkness didn’t believe in coincidences though.

 

“Yes.” Dami said. He stilled. “You know Roy?”

 

“Roy Harper?” Nightwing asked, just to have some clarification.

 

Dami nodded. He looked tensed.

 

“I know of him.” Nightwing finally said. “They said he served the Darkness.” Excitement crept down his spine, making him almost heady with the revelation. Arsenal had appeared. The appearance of his brother’s Lieutenant could only mean one thing.

 

Red Hood was making his comeback soon.

 

It had been a tough war when it happened. His brother was backed into a corner because of a mistake that shouldn’t have been made. His temper was his downfall. To draw the attention away from Red Hood and stopped people from discovering his Knight’s identity, Lieutenant Arsenal had been forced to attack Red Hood and then fled the country.

 

Hence, Red Hood’s identity was protected.

 

Nightwing supposed that he was blessed to know that his own Lieutenant, Slade Wilson also known as Deathstroke, was just as talented and loyal, if not more so than Arsenal.

 

Color bled away from Dami’s skin. “He served…”

 

Nightwing considered Dami’s words. He couldn’t believe that Roy had died here. There was no reason for him to come to Cairo unless the Darkness had summoned him here just like how it had summoned Nightwing. His lips pressed together. He wanted to find this special thing and leave this place. It made him uncomfortable, this unknown variety.

 

Nightwing couldn’t risk communicate with his mentor right now though. He still didn’t know about Dami enough for that faith.

 

“He seemed so nice…” Dami said softly. Nightwing pressed his lips together. That was a part of Roy’s charm.

 

“Did he say anything to you before he died?” Nightwing pushed.

 

“He… offered me his eyes.” Dami shifted.

 

Roy had done _what_? Arsenal was famous for his Sight. Among the servants of Darkness, it was rumored that he had the best Sight. He could shoot a target straight at a distance no human could. He also could see things that no normal human could see, including the Dark.

 

Nightwing studied Dami, trying to put everything he had learned about the boy. He had a Dark gift. He had a hidden depth of darkness inside of him that Nightwing often associated with the servants of Darkness. Roy had offered him his eyes.

 

There was more to this boy.

 

Was this the special someone that Omul-Liliac had wanted him to meet? He could not say that it was a waste of time then. Who this boy was supposed to be was still a mystery though. If he was meant to be a Knight, why hadn’t the Darkness whispered to him as it had whispered to all of them? To Nightwing, to Red Hood, to Red Robin?

 

Maybe the Darkness sensed Red Robin’s loneliness. Maybe this was its way to push forth a Lieutenant for his brother.

 

 _That_ … sounded more reasonable.

 

“My mentor suspected something about him.” Dami said finally. “Do you think he was very Dark?”

 

Roy? Nightwing mused. He had killed thousands for his Knight. In a battle a long time ago, he had slaughtered so many it had looked like he was bathed in the liquid of life.

 

But then, Roy was also the one that had hidden Red Hood’s strayed raccoon for him when his brother begged him to because Red Hood thought the Darkness killed everything it touched. Roy was also the one saving those cats in the flood all those years back.

 

“Doesn’t matter what I think.” Nightwing finally said. “He didn’t hurt you. That’s all it matters.”

 

Dami nodded.

 

“I would like to take the weapon back to my… acquaintance to study it, if you would accompany me.” Nightwing said after a moment. “He’s Alvin Draper, he belongs to the Court of Owls, he’s a _savant de întuneric_ ,” Nightwing searched for the right Arabic word. “A scholar, he studies the Darkness.” When Nightwing learned of Red Robin’s choice of cover occupation, he had laughed himself sick.

 

It was _very_ fitting. A scholar of Darkness. _The_ Scholar of Darkness.

 

Dami pursed his lips. “Where does he live? Is it in another region far from the Nile?” He asked.

 

Nightwing considered the words. He nodded.

 

“Yes,” Nightwing explained. “London, in Britain. Do you know of it?” He asked.

 

Dami nodded. “I will accompany you. I wish to…” He paused, glancing at Nightwing before looking away. He seemed embarrassed. “… I wish to expand my horizon.” He muttered at last as if the confession pained him.

 

Nightwing thought that was endearing. “I think he will love to hear your tale.” He said finally.

 

Before Dami could say anything, there was another loud sound. A screech. _Doilea_. Someone was here. Dami turned to him a second later, a grim look on his face. “They’re here.”

 

“I’ve found him!”

 

Nightwing turned toward the sound.

 

Two men were there, their breaths coming and fleeing quickly.

 

“Kill them.” Nightwing whispered, pushing his magic into both of his familiars. Primul and Doilea let out a war cry.

 

He hadn’t specified a spell, only the intent. As such, his crows circled the men in a predatory dance. Primul swooped down and his beak poked into the man’s eye socket, digging out his eye. Primul’s wings sharpened by magic, dragged cuts on the fool’s skin in long scratches.

 

There was a howl of pain.

 

The man’s companion drew out something metal. It was a dagger, the blade was hidden by a metal sheath. A sharp tug later, Nightwing found himself facing the end of a dagger with a blade made from some sort of green gemstone.

 

The dying light danced on the smooth, crystal-like surface.

 

 _La dracu_.

 

In a blink of an eye, Nightwing had pulled out his weapons, intending to join in the fight. His familiars could not handle both the witch hunters and the weapon that could _take_ magic.

 

Too little. Too late.

 

The man’s companion had swung the dagger in a practiced manner, slicing one of Primul’s wings half off. The bird cried.

 

 _Thud_.

 

The dull sound of crystal skewing _his_ familiar was almost anticlimactic. Primul dropped, twitching weakly in an attempt to get up.

 

“Doilea, retreat!” Nightwing cried. One lost was enough. His second crow flew up, out of the hunter’s reach while Nightwing darted forward, thrusting his weapons.

 

The witch hunter managed to dodge the first attack but it made his movements clumsy. _An opening_. Nightwing charged.

 

Green light danced from the corners of his eyes.

 

 _La dracu. Rahat_. Shit. Shit.

 

In his anger at the loss of Primul, Nightwing was blind to the second hunter. He was in no position to dodge now. The attack would come and he could not dodge it.

 

Funny how his last thought was ‘ _Slade will scold me for my temper_.’

 

The finishing blow never came.

 

As Nightwing looked behind him, ignoring the now dead hunter, skewed by his weapons just as he had skewed his familiar, a breath escaped his lips.

 

It was not a sigh of relief.

 

It was a breath of awe.

 

Behind him, a massive golem made of sand and magic towered over him, protecting him from the deadly attack. On its shoulder, Dami perched. His face was pale and he looked exhausted.

 

There was a victorious smile on his lips.

 

The golem reached forward, massive, clumsy hands grabbed the hunter by his head and –

 

– twisted it off.

 

Blood spurted from the wound and the headless body fell into the ground.

 

The magic that held the golem together faded and with it, the golem as well. It crumbled back into the sandy ground that had created it, dropping Dami.

 

“That was close.” Dami said, turning to face the Knight. Nightwing paid the words no mind.

 

“That… was beautiful.” Nightwing said instead, looking at the darkening sand as the body emptied its blood.

 

Dami looked bashful for a moment. “I told you my Element was Earth.” 

 

So he did.

 

“I’m sorry about your familiar.” Dami offered.

 

Nightwing shrugged. He made his way toward Primul with Doilea hovering nearby. Using a ritual dagger he always carried with him, Nightwing cut open the crow’s chest, spreading his ribcage and pulled out his heart. He repeated the same for the bird’s brain, although with a lot more precision.

 

“He can be re-created.” As long as the heart and/or the brain were untouched, the rest could be replaced. This wasn’t his first Primul. The essence was the same. The body, however, wasn’t.

 

Nightwing took out a box he prepared just for occasion like this. Inside, sigils were painstakingly caved in order to preserve whatever was in the box. Nightwing dropped the heart and the brain inside and sealed the box. “Shall we go or shall we wait for another hunter?” He looked at Dami.

 

“They will follow us.” Dami pointed out.

 

Yes. Nightwing frowned.

 

He remembered the victorious smile on Dami’s face when he destroyed the hunter. What would he look like when he casted something Dark and destructive?

 

Mnm. That last one, Nightwing might be able to see.

 

“I have an idea.” Nightwing approached Dami. “If we combine our magic, I think we can create a powerful spell. We could kill every hunter that’s nearby and buy ourselves a little time to escape.”

 

The small smile on Dami’s face died. “If there are any survivors…”

 

“Would you risk our lives for the _possibility_? Would you risk the Council never seeing the weapon?”

 

“No.” Dami said. His eyes hardened. Good. “We have to make it quick.”

 

“I’m thinking that we should entwine our magic into the air. My Element is Air. You are exhausted from using your Element.” Nightwing said. He could probably cast the spell alone but the thought of sharing the deaths of the hunters with Dami was very tempting. Too tempting.

 

Nightwing had never been good at resisting temptation.

 

“I’m thinking poisonous fog.” Nightwing continued before Dami could say anything. “It will start quick, but dissipate after a mile.” He would have preferred a wider radius, but with Cairo so close, they couldn’t risk killing normal people and dragging the royals into an investigation.

 

Dami’s fingers trembled, making the wand tapped against his thigh. Tap. Tap. _Tap_. “Alright.”

 

Nightwing took a deep breath, reaching for his connection with Doilea and called for the crow to take place on his left shoulder. He threaded magic into the air, imagining poison. As sweet as Dates, as deadly as Belladonna.

 

The power coiled inside him. When it began to ache, he released his breath and magic, focusing it into his conduit. Doilea twitched. Beside him, Dami was doing the same to his wand, the tip sparkled with restrained power.

 

“Destroy them.” Dami whispered.

 

Yes.

 

The wind around him purred with pleasure at the deed. In the chaos, Omul-Liliac had kept his silence but now, as the adrenaline began to fade, Nightwing could hear the hisses of the wind again.

 

The air trembled, the magic swept out.

 

The power shocked Nightwing’s skin as it passed, leaving his skin feeling raw. For a moment, he could sense Dami. The connection was akin to that with his familiar, a quiet presence. There was more. There was a hidden depth of abyss. It was blocked by something.

 

 _Darkness_.

 

Nightwing frowned in displeasure. He wanted to get through that blockage and see more.

 

Nightwing focused back on Dami’s face. He would never admit it but he had never casted a spell with anyone before. It was an… intimate process. It surprised him. From the look on Dami’s face, the intimacy surprised the boy, too.

 

Pain erupted from his arm and Nightwing let out a cry, startling Doilea. She flew off. Nightwing turned around. There was a hunter there, holding up a bow, a cruel smile on his face.

 

On the side of Nightwing’s arm, green crystal glistered.

 

“ _Darkness_.” Dami cursed, positioning in front of the hunter. The gesture was appreciated but not needed. Nightwing grabbed the handle of the arrow and yanked it out.

 

The hunter that had attacked him looked smug for a moment before magic swept over him. Blood vessels ruptured and his body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

Numbness spread from the wound.

 

Nightwing shook his head. The weapon hadn’t been there for long. If he could focus his magic and forced out the poison then –

 

Coldness slowly spread across, radiating from the injury. Whatever it touched, magic slowly disappeared. Nightwing’s magic was fading with it.

 

Darkness. The weapon was stealing _his_ magic.

 

“Roy cut off his foot. It slowed the spread but didn’t stop it.” Dami said finally.

 

Roy _died_ because of this abomination?

 

Grief and anger exploded and warred in his chest. He knew that Roy had been killed but he hadn’t thought about how it might have happened. This agony, this pain. To think Roy died like this was horrible.

 

Those hunters would _pay_ for this insult.

 

 “I’m not going to cut off anything.” Nightwing said finally. He whistled and called Doilea back. Cowardice crows. This was why he needed the chain to keep them in place. He looked at the wound, the skin was becoming yellow fading to green.

 

It was painless, Nightwing realized. For some reasons, the witch hunter did not want its victims to suffer.

 

“What can I do?” Dami asked.

 

“Keep an eye out for the others and kill them.” Nightwing said. The spell should kill all the hunters, but Nightwing didn’t want to risk it in case someone managed to slip through it.

 

Nightwing cut across the wound, then forced warm magic into the cut. Omul-Liliac helped him. If he could force the poison to bleed out through the wound, perhaps this would end.

 

The power flowed into the infected flesh and… _faded_.

 

 _La dracu_.

 

The yellow-green splotch spread down Nightwing’s arm. Along the wound, blood mixed with something green seeped out.

 

Dami dropped on his knees and drew a circle on the sand. He pointed his wand to the ground, closing his eyes in concentration. “No one is around for two miles.”

 

“ _Rahat_.” Nightwing cursed, forcing more magic into the wound.

 

Dami frowned. “My mentor… She died so quickly.”

 

Nightwing resisted the urge to sneer. “My magic is strong. I think I can force it out.” Of course Dami’s mentor would die quickly. She wasn’t a Knight.

 

Except, the contagion continued to encroach down his flesh and up his shoulder. The air around him grew stale, something that only happened when he had exhausted himself.

 

Despite his tie to Omul-Liliac, the weapon was killing him.

 

Unease threaded through Nightwing. This couldn’t be happening. He was the first Knight. He had lived through all of his brothers’ and sister’s reigns. He needed to wait for the Fourth Knight to emerge so the Darkness could gather enough strength to create a soul. If he died…

 

Movement, Dami was at his side, searching for his ritual knife.

 

“What are you doing?” Nightwing asked.

 

Dami cut across his palm. Blood followed the blade’s arc, sending red droplets on the ground.

 

“My magic is strong, too.” He said, laying his palm flat on Nightwing’s arm. “I think I can help you.”

 

Nightwing pulled his arm back but Dami only tightened his grip. “Do you want to die?” He asked. Darkness this boy was reckless. What if the wound was contagious? What if it seeped from Nightwing’s flesh to Dami’s?

 

Dami didn’t answer him. Instead, a surge of magic flowed into Nightwing, sweeping up his arm and then throughout his body.

 

A light pain followed, making Nightwing’s fingers twitched. The ache sharpened, reminding Nightwing of the pain of a waking limb.

 

The yellow-green stain trembled.

 

And then flaked off.

 

The feel of magic slowly returned to Nightwing.

 

He stared at Dami. If their places had been reversed, he would have felt disappointed to lose Dami. He didn’t know if he would have tried to help him. Even if he tried, he didn’t know if he would have been successful.

 

Nightwing felt confused.

 

“Why?” he asked.

 

Dami looked up. The color of his eyes darkened until it felt like Nightwing was staring at a bottomless lake. They were exquisite. And…pained.

 

“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” he said. “Not today.”

 

Nightwing cocked his head, taking Dami’s hand off of his arm and held it, studying the bloody palm. He glanced up at his familiar and then back down at Dami. He sent a pulse of magic, willing it to knit back the flesh together.

 

There was a scar left behind.

 

Dami pulled his hand away, nodding at Nightwing. Nightwing felt his lips twitched.

 

Arsenal was right. There was something about Dami. Something worth plucking one’s eyes out for.

 

“We should go.” Nightwing settled finally. They had stayed here for too long.

 

They walked silently for a few minutes, finding and then keeping to a narrow path. The sun had set at this point, the trees crouched low over them, creating a dark carven.

 

Nightwing studied his magic. His power felt dulled. Losing Primul and then dealing with the taint had weakened him.

 

Nightwing frowned. He didn’t want to acknowledge his weakness but earlier, it had been a close call. It would be disrespectful to Omul-Liliac if he didn’t acknowledge his injured state. He needed rest.

 

“I’m sorry.” Dami said. “I don’t believe I have asked your name.”

 

“Considering the circumstances, I think it’s alright.” Nightwing smiled. Nightwing had given himself a human name, the closest he could connect to his old one. “It’s… Richard.” Something with an ‘R’ sound. His old name.

 

“Richard.” Dami repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “I hope –”

 

“It’s here!” A man called out. “The Darkness is here!”

 

Nightwing searched the area, scowling. No, the Darkness wasn’t. Wait… Did those hunters thought they were hunting the _Darkness_ when they hunted the mages?

 

Unacceptable.

 

It was one thing to kill Arsenal, attack him and destroy the magical community of Cairo, it was another thing altogether to imagine hurting Omul-Liliac.

 

Arrows flew between Dami and Nightwing, forcing them apart. Nightwing turned. Stupid hunters! He would let his crows feast on their dying bodies and –

 

Twelve hunters stood behind them.

 

They raised their weapons.

 

Nightwing stepped back. _La dracu_. Twelve. He couldn’t deal with twelve while his power was so weak.

 

 _Rahat_.

 

“Run.” Nightwing whispered.

 

He and Dami darted into the woods. Dami ran, his hands clawing one direction, then another. He veered off the path, disappearing, and then appearing behind the trees.

 

Nightwing followed, pulling the last of his magic to cast a spell.

 

Cold fog erupted from around him, spilling over and seeping into the woods behind him.

 

Nightwing returned his attention to running. His concentration was scattered, his magic weak, but the hunters didn’t know that. Hopefully they’d fall over themselves trying to escape his spell. It might not kill any of them but it would hamper their pursuit, allowing him and Dami to…

 

Nightwing panted as he paused for a moment, his chest heaved.

 

He looked around, suddenly very aware of the missing figure next to him.

 

 _Where_ was Dami?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:
> 
> Living flesh was drawing closer.
> 
> Red Hood’s lips twitched, making his dry gums creep across sharp teeth. After sleeping for so long, his senses felt dulled. Despite that, as the hole above grew, so did his awareness. The mortal outside was young.
> 
> Male. Healthy.
> 
> Hunger spiked deep in Red Hood’s gut. He wanted to reach up and help the man break the stone. He wanted to pull himself free of his tomb and feel the night air against his flesh. He couldn’t. He was bespelled to stillness.
> 
> The spell was a clever thing, woven into the very stone around him. Red Hood could open and close his eyes but nothing else.
> 
> With every piece that the person outside his tomb dislodged, though, a piece of him was freed. Right now, he could smile. In a few moments, he would be able to move his fingers. When he could move his hands he would reach through the crumbling stone, and take the mortal.
> 
> Red Hood watched. And waited. Soon, the man would break through. Soon, Red Hood would feed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Do you count this chapter as Fluff? I thought you guys need some happiness... I'm not sure if I manage or not...
> 
> Here, have your dose of Jason.
> 
> I also want to say that imo, Jason won't be Jason without the whole 'digging out of your own grave' thing.

There was a peace in waiting patiently that not many people could appreciate or understand. Slade thought that was a true pity. Now here he was, sitting outside, sipping a cold beer and watching the dance of shadow and moonlight, Slade felt calmer than he had felt in years.

 

The wind whispered but Slade couldn’t hear the words, only the faint hiss as it caressed the leaves. He wondered if he could hear the Darkness, what it would be saying right now. Would it be proud of him? Would it be proud of its Knights? Slade served the Darkness, but above it all, he stayed because of his Knight.

 

The front door opened and Slade didn’t bother to look up, waiting for the familiar sound of wheels rolling on the ground.

 

“New body?” Slade glanced at Oracle and inclined his head in greeting.

 

“Yes.” Slade answered simply. “Third one in less than twenty four hours. Nightwing was rather adamant about his life choice as Officer Grayson.”

 

“I don’t expect any less from a Knight. They always have violent wake-ups.” Oracle said simply. She flipped her red hair back, leaning forward. Her fingers clasped together.

 

“Red Robin just contacted. As expected, it was not a merge. He attempted to locate us but the protection sigils block the location from his spell and his body is rather weak, he will require pick up.” She noted.

 

Slade grunted. “Let Arsenal or one of the others do it. As you can see, I have my hands full here.”

 

Oracle, in this lifetime also known as ‘Barbara Gordon’, just let out a small tsk. “Arsenal is in Spain, searching for his Knight at another Celtic ruin. He fully believes his Knight will be there this time. The Darkness guided him to this ruin.”

 

“What about the other servants?” Slade asked, annoyance crept in his voice. He didn’t mind looking after another Knight but Nightwing took priority over them. He had to make sure that Nightwing was alright first before he even considered picking up Red Robin from wherever he was right now.

 

This was why Red Robin ought to pick a Lieutenant.

 

Oracle leveled him with a _look_.

 

Slade took a sip of his beer. “Tell him I’ll be his driver but only after Nightwing’s convergence is complete. Shouldn’t be long now, a few hours tops. If he’s up for it, I’m sure Nightwing will be delighted to see Red Robin after such a long time.” His lips pressed together.

 

The odd pair sat there for a little while longer, soaking in the cool, damp air of the night.

 

Finally, Oracle spoke up. “The calm before the storm is truly something.” She said quietly.

 

Slade hummed. “Yes, yes it is.” He turned to face the young woman. “How do you intend to deal with the Commissioner? Can’t really say you are a Servant now, can you? I can tell you are fond of him. Ties are dangerous when a war is approaching.”

 

A look crossed Oracle’s face. It was a dangerous look, not because of the damage she could deal, Slade knew that she was a dangerous woman already, but because he knew that _look_. It was the look that could make one betray an ideal for. He didn’t like the look on Oracle’s face. He preferred certainty over possibility.

 

“He doesn’t have to know about any of this. Not until it’s too late to do anything. And I _know_ him. The Commissioner will not get in the way.” Oracle said firmly.

 

Slade doubted that. Even normal people would be brought into the upcoming war, it was inevitable. It was _the_ final battle after all. The Commissioner _would_ be dragged into this. There was no escaping destiny. The Commissioner was a clean cop, he wouldn’t approve of what his precious daughter was up to.

 

“When the time comes, I hope you pick the right side, Oracle. You are a useful ally, I would hate to lose you.” Slade said quietly. “You can’t have the best of both worlds. Either you lose him, or you lose us. You have to choose which one matters more.”

 

Oracle remained silent.

 

Slade stood up, crushing the now empty can. “I will go check up on Nightwing.” He announced.

 

* * *

 

The sight that greeted Slade upon his entrance was not unexpected but highly bothersome. He dropped down on one knee in front of his Knight, shaking his head. “Still stubborn, I see.” He sighed, tilting Nighwing’s chin up.

 

Unresponsive eyes stared at him. At least they were Dark. He knew the signs when he saw them. His Knight was coming back. “I ought to demand a raise based on just the sheer amount of body clean up you make me do, boy.” Slade muttered, shifting Nightwing in his grip and hauled him up.

 

The movements jostled Nightwing and the Knight twitched. For a moment, Slade thought Nightwing had slipped back into the trance-like state but then his eyes _focused_ on Slade.

 

Slade felt a thrill run down his spine.

 

 _Nightwing_ was looking at _him_ now. Not Dick Grayson, not the look of someone who didn’t know him. It was the look of someone who had fought side by side with Slade. It was the trust forged by fire and blood.

 

“Slade…?” Nightwing asked, gripping his forehead. He groaned in pain. “Darkness, my head…”

 

“Shh, don’t think. You are merging with your other self. I will take care of everything. Rest.” Slade reassured, watching Nightwing twitch before stilling, trusting that he was in safe hands.

 

Slade carried Nightwing back to the bed and laid him down. “Rest, my friend.” He said softly, turning back to the dead body that Nightwing had left behind. He frowned when he spotted the phone on the floor.

 

Slade picked it up and looked at the dozens of missed calls all from the same number.

 

Darkness. They might have another problem on their hands now.

 

* * *

 

Red Hood dreamed.

 

_He was running between dark alleys, chasing after his prey. The rapist thought that he could hide in the darkness, washing his hands off of responsibility. He thought he could forget the pain he had put a little girl through just for a short few minutes of sexual gratification if he ignored his sins long enough. Those were the ones Red Hood hated the most._

_He thought he could hide._

_He didn’t know that the Darkness adored Red Hood like a father doting on his child. If the death of a rapist satisfied his Knight, then there would be no dark corners where the scum could run to…_

 

* * *

 

_Red Hood was running again. He was younger. He was hungry and angry and hurt. He didn’t have parents. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t have shelter or clothes. He did have food though. He stole it. And now he was running with the whispers of the wind trailing behind him, telling him where to hide. The Darkness was reliable at times like this…_

 

* * *

 

_Red Hood was not Red Hood yet. No one called him by anything. No, that was a lie. People called him ‘Shoo’ when he came too close to the food. They called him Shoo when he lingered too long in front of a child his age. They called him Shoo when he tried to touch a cherished dog._

_He thought his name was special. No one was called Shoo in his village. But then, he quickly realized being special was not good. People ‘shoo-ed’ him away. They chased him with broomsticks and cruel words and he didn’t understand. The wind told him that he was special and loved, so why did the people chase him away? Was this a form of love? Hurting someone? Then he didn’t want to love and he didn’t want to be loved by anyone._

_He didn’t want to be called Shoo anymore. He didn’t want the special treatment. So the wind gave him a name…_

 

* * *

 

_Red Hood was standing in front of a slab of stone, watching Nightwing lay on top like a sleeping princess, his face was pale and he was not breathing. The wind said Nightwing was very weak. The wind said that he was really injured and he was healing himself._

_The wind said there was nothing that Red Hood could do for him._

_But Red Hood heard the tales. He heard about the Charming Prince rescuing the Princess through a kiss of love. Red Hood thought that Nightwing was lovely. So he placed a kiss on his cold cheek._

_Nothing happened._

_Either Red Hood didn’t love enough or love didn’t save anything…_

 

The dream faded, and he found himself surrounding by earth.

 

* * *

 

 

He scowled. He hated waking. As bittersweet as the memories were, there was still some pleasure to be had. Here, he was long forgotten and the earth conspired against him. He –

 

Light stabbed his eyes.

 

The brightness of it stunned him, and for a moment, he wondered if this was another dream.

 

Then, a tendril of cool air snaked over him and Red Hood _knew_. This was real. Someone had found him.

 

Small bits of stone fell on him, their edges cutting him. The pain surprised and delighted him. The ache was a sensation, and after so many years of nothing, that sharp touch excited him.

 

The hint of air, sweetly cool and smelling of human sweat, crept over him.

 

Living flesh was drawing closer.

 

Red Hood’s lips twitched, making his dry gums creep across sharp teeth. After sleeping for so long, his senses felt dulled. Despite that, as the hole above grew, so did his awareness. The mortal outside was young.

 

Male. Healthy.

 

Hunger spiked deep in Red Hood’s gut. He wanted to reach up and help the man break the stone. He wanted to pull himself free of his tomb and feel the night air against his flesh. He couldn’t. He was bespelled to stillness.

 

The spell was a clever thing, woven into the very stone around him. Red Hood could open and close his eyes but nothing else.

 

With every piece that the person outside his tomb dislodged, though, a piece of him was freed. Right now, he could smile. In a few moments, he would be able to move his fingers. When he could move his hands he would reach through the crumbling stone, and take the mortal.

 

Red Hood watched. And waited. Soon, the man would break through. Soon, Red Hood would feed.

 

* * *

 

The wait was long, or perhaps, it wasn’t. Red Hood had lost all sense of time after he had been sealed away. What was the difference between one second and one hour when all he could see was the never ending darkness? And this darkness didn’t speak. At least, the Darkness he knew did. He would do anything for a little sound of life.

 

The stones were finally moved enough that Red Hood could move his arms and the Knight didn’t hesitate to reach forward, his whole limbs were stiff but the adrenaline rush was stronger and he made his fingers moved despite how much his body protested.

 

Red Hood shoved his arm through the earth, feeling something in him break when he felt pain. So many sensations bombarded him at once. The feeling of dirt on his face, the pain of sharp rocks, the cool air…

 

It was unbelievable how many sensations one would feel after being locked up for a millennium.

 

Red Hood reached out blindly for the human male. He grabbed cloth. Red Hood closed his fingers around the material. It was rough. It scratched his palm in a long forgotten sensation.

 

He pulled.

 

Noises assaulted his ears.

 

The closest noises to him were of the human male. Trembling breaths, chest-heaving pants and a shaky laugh that didn’t make sense to Red Hood. Further away, there were the sounds of nature. Bird chirping, wind whistling, water running, insect mating calls, all of those overwhelmed Red Hood.

 

“Jason!”

 

The male made a sound. And Jason remembered. He was Red Hood. He was also Jason Todd. He picked the name for himself, not the Darkness. He had a first name and a last name. He was the troubled child. He was the traitor.

 

“ _Jason!_ ” The sound came out strangled now. Jason thought that was strange but he didn’t pay it any attention. He was so _hungry_.

 

Jason bared his teeth and sank down on the flesh, tearing out a big chunk. He vaguely remembered not eating raw meat once but that had been so long ago. Surely his hungry stomach would not get sick just from a bite. He needed to feed.

 

The noise turned into an ear-splitting scream. Jason’s ears hurt. He snarled and prepared to silent the sound forever.

 

Hands held him down, pinning him in place so he couldn’t struggle.

 

Jason snarled and growled and cried, flailing his limbs. The human with hair the color of fire kept holding him down, shouting words he didn’t hear. One of his shoulders was stained with the color of fire as well. Red. Fire was red, right? Fire hair and fire shoulder and very, very sad eyes.

 

“Jason!! Jason! Red Hood!!!”

 

The last name jolted something and Jason snarled, panting heavily. His strength died down too quickly. He was still _so_ hungry.

 

“What have those mages _done_ to you…” The fire male said softly. “Do you know who I am?”

 

It took a while for the question to register. It took a few moments longer for him to understand the question and even longer for him to realize that he had to answer it. He studied the male.

 

“ _Fffff…_ ” Jason couldn’t speak. His throat was so dry.

 

The figure released a hand from Jason’s shoulder and reached over for a container. He made a twisting motion with his hands. He tilted the container.

 

Something dripped down Jason’s dry lips.

 

 _Water_.

 

Jason drank eagerly, forcing the tensed jaw muscles to work.

 

The water was taken away.

 

_No._

 

Jason snarled, curling his fingers around the fire male’s wrist, trying to force him to give Jason back the water.

 

“Stop it. You will get yourself sick.” The fire male said. It didn’t make sense. How could water that felt so good make him sick? He wanted more. His snarls didn’t seem to affect the fire male though, not even when he snapped his jaws in another attempt to bite down.

 

“I’m sorry about this.” The fire male continued and before Jason could react, there was a sudden pressure on his neck. He fought viciously to stay awake but his body was weak and the hit was accurate.

 

Jason’s eyes closed.

 

No. Not again…

 

* * *

 

 

Awareness returned in phases. Red Hood’s sense of feeling returned first, the soft material that he was laying on… Strange, he didn’t remember having laid on anything soft for… he didn’t know how long now. Then, it was his sense of smell. The smell of nature, of mud, of _air_ that wasn’t the stale source that kept him company in his prison… Then it was his hearing. There was a voice. The voice was talking to someone he couldn’t hear.

 

“Objective one: positive. I’ve got him.”

 

“…”

 

“He’s in a really bad shape. I don’t know what those mages did to him but he’s gone half feral when I found him. Bit me on my shoulder and everything. I’m not sure if he remembers who he is or who I am.”

 

“…”

 

“I’m in a safe house right now with him. I have enough to last for a while, don’t worry.”

 

“…”

 

“I can’t, goddammit! I’m stuck in _Spain_ right now. Unless you have access to a helicopter I will have to stay here until he doesn’t attempt to eat me or anyone alive.”

 

“…”

 

“I don’t know how long I have to stay. Until he’s more like himself, I guess. If I can get him to even touch a plane without freaking out. I’ll contact you again soon. I think he’s waking up. Tell N I said Hi.”

 

There were movements and then a moment later, a hand touched his shoulder. Jason was shocked by the contact. It had been so long… Jason had many dreams before, none of them had gone like this. “I know you are awake. Open your pretty blue for me, Jay.”

 

Jason forced his eyes to open. The male with red hair he had seen earlier was there, looking down at him. He was… familiar. Jason knew he had met this man before. It was blurry, but he could remember something. A sound… no, a name. It was a name.

 

“…Roy…?” Jason asked, his voice was barely above a whisper. His body was heavy and his throat was still so dry. Even the sound that passed between his lips sounded strange. He coughed, a hand flew to his throat and he clawed at it, hating the way the air scratched and irritated his vocal cords.

 

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” Roy… _Was it Roy?_ … Spoke, reaching over to grab something and pressed it to Jason’s lips. Soothing liquid spilled out of the goblet and Jason opened his mouth greedily to take it in.

 

Roy pulled the goblet away. “Just a little bit. I will give you more. You said my name. Do you… remember me?” When Jason attempted to speak again, Roy stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t speak. Just nod for yes and shake your head for no. Do you remember me?”

 

Jason stared at Roy. He hesitantly nodded his head then he thought better and shook it. He knew the man was Roy, but he didn’t know who Roy was…

 

“Okay… Okay.” Roy bit his bottom lip. “Do you know who you are?”

 

Yes. He was Red Hood. He was… He was the one that nobody but the wind wanted. He was Jason Todd, he named himself after the wind had given him a name.

 

“Stay still.” Roy said and took a satchel. He rummaged through it and pulled out what seemed like trash to Jason. It was a… nondescript rock, what seemed like a really dirty piece of cloth that might have been a different color once, an arrowhead and the last one was a round, river rock with a smooth surface.

 

Jason gave Roy a look of confusion.

 

Roy seemed to be… He seemed to be holding back emotions. His fingers curled into fists and he turned away from Jason, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked… _pained_. Jason felt the urge to comfort him.

 

He placed a hand on Roy’s shoulder, the one that wasn’t wrapped in white bandage and squeezed.

 

Roy gathered himself. “Thanks.” He said, looking down at the trash. He took a moment before he spoke. “These… These are good memories. _Your_ good memories.” Roy explained softly. “I kept them safe for you while you were… missing. It’s time for me to give them back to you.”

 

Roy first held out the normal, nondescript rock. “You told me this was a rock you picked up the day the Darkness first whispered to you. You said that you were hiding from a crowd of people chasing you when it spoke to you. You told me the Darkness called you its Knight. It was the day your life began anew.”

 

Roy placed the rock down and held out the piece of cloth. Was it possible to be angry and sad at the same time? Roy looked like he wanted to tear something apart and at the same time, he seemed like he was holding back tears. “And this… This was… this was your treasure. You wore this when the Darkness gave you the name Red Hood. You said you were ten when it happened. It was a good day. I think it was in spring. You told me that the Darkness named you because you didn’t want to be called… well, you didn’t want to be a nameless person in the crowd anymore.”

 

Roy chewed on his lip, looking down at the last two objects. He picked up the round river rock first. “This was the first time Nightwing trained you in magic. He thought you looked like your Element might be water. He took you to a stream. Your first spell failed so badly somehow the fish flew up from the stream and smacked Nightwing on the face. You laughed so hard you swallowed a mouthful of water.”

 

Jason’s lips twitched up.

 

Roy picked up the last object, the arrowhead. It was rusty. It looked old. Still, it looked like it was cherished. Jason reached out and took the object. Roy didn’t stop him.

 

He studied the arrowhead, tracing his finger down the rust and touched the tip. He could guess this one even when his head was cloudy. He wanted to say it. He felt like he owed Roy that much.

 

“Our first meeting…” Jason said simply. His voice was so rough, he felt like he could never speak normally again. Had this been how his voice always sounded? He didn’t know. He hadn’t heard his voice for so long, he had forgotten.

 

Something in Roy broke. “Yeah…”

 

Neither of them spoke. Jason because he didn’t know what to say and Roy because he looked like there were too many things he wanted to say and he couldn’t decide on what to say first.

 

“I… I will make you something to eat. Just soup. You haven’t eaten in… like nine hundreds years or something… You need to get used to food again. No eating me.” Roy attempted to joke at last. It was a weak attempt. Jason didn’t think it was funny enough but he exercised his facial muscles by mustering up a grin anyway.

 

Roy left his side and busied himself somewhere else. He was probably attempting to make that soup. Jason though, he just sat there, staring at his good memories. He examined each object, relearning its shape, the feel of it in his palm.

 

He should feel sad. Who was he exactly? What kind of person had he been that he could only hold onto four good memories?

 

Still, it felt like a miracle he even got to keep _any_ good memories at all. Better, they were in the form of objects he could hold onto. Objects that he could keep _safe_.

 

When Roy returned, apologizing to him because somehow Roy had messed up canned soup, whatever canned soup was, by oversalting it and burning it and a list of things that Jason couldn’t bother keeping track of and told him that Jason didn’t have to eat the soup if he didn’t want to.

 

Jason took the soup anyway. He let his throat burn with sensation and his eyes burn with heat. He couldn’t stop even when Roy tried to stop him by telling him that it would make him sick and that he should slow down.

 

It was the best oversalted, overcooked canned soup Jason had ever eaten in his _entire_ life. He hadn't known that it was his _first_ canned soup though.

 

Nothing could ruin it for him, not even when his stomach churned and he was forced to bend down to empty the soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before the preview for the next chapter, I wanna tell you that I'll be going on a 4-day trip and won't be able to write in that 4 days. So this will be the last update for a little bit. I _should_ be able to post as soon as I get back. I have a decent chunk written already. Wait for me, my dear readers. I will not leave you guys hanging. 
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> "I'll have to leave soon so... wait for me?" Red Robin whispered softly so he wouldn't disturb the peaceful silence between them. He stroked Conner's hair, pushing the strands back. He felt Conner tightened his grip around Red Robin's waist, pulling him closer. He buried his nose in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, breathing in the familiar scent. Maybe he was getting attached as well. It wasn't a bad feeling.
> 
> "Always." Conner whispered, risking a glance toward the window. The sky was getting bright and the stars were slowly burning out. Time was running short.
> 
> Red Robin cupped Conner's cheek and turned his face away from the window. "Don't look." He said. Red Robin didn't want to know how much time they had left. He studied Conner's face carefully, memorizing his perfection, the dip of his dimple, the slope of his nose. This was his last glance to what would soon be a memory. "I will definitely be back to take you away."
> 
> "I know."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apparently very bad at self control... and the question of who Conner is related to, I also have my answer.
> 
> Also, I should name this chapter: How to get away with murder
> 
> P/S: The science is as real as I can make it. Please make sure if you have a murder kit, keep it away from children's reach. Conner represents me so much.

Red Robin slummed down on a nearby chair, studying the dead bodies in front of him. He was mentally kicking himself.

 

Stupid.

 

Careless.

 

This was the sort of mistakes that _amateurs_ made. The sort of mistakes _Red Hood_ made after he had drunk a _barrel_ of alcohol.

 

Glassy eyes stared at him, unseeing. Two dead bodies. Five hours left until his pickup.

 

He was in dire need of a solution.

 

The wind carried the scent of stale blood to his nose, making him lick his lips. It felt like yesterday since he used blood magic, but he knew that time had changed. He was not Alvin Draper anymore, no more servants to fall back to. He didn’t carry enough weight as Tim Drake to conceal the crime by force.

 

He didn’t even have his magic conduit for a quick fix.

 

Fuck.

 

Worse, he knew he _could_ ask for help. Deathstroke would probably help him get rid of everything if he asked but what would he say? He had standards, and to be so dependent on another’s Lieutenant to clean up his own mess for him would obliterate his pride.

 

Pushing himself to his feet, Red Robin approached the dead bodies, their faces were forever frozen in horror. The longer he spent without a solution, the more evidence there would be.

 

He needed to act. Now.

 

Time to put Conner Luthor through a test of morals.

 

Conner picked up on the fifth ring, his voice was heavy with sleep.

 

Red Robin didn’t wait though, he had no time to beat around the bush. “You know those jokes about best friends helping each other bury the bodies? Does it apply to boyfriends, too?” He asked.

 

There was a long pause.

 

“…Tim?” The ‘ _What have you done?_ ’ was left unsaid.

 

“I need you.” Red Robin said simply.

 

The moment of hesitancy was far shorter this time.

 

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

 

 _Good_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Conner was _not_ a goon. He hated how that had become the first assumption people thought of when they looked at him. He was quite simple-minded, yes. He could also be trusting. He knew that his look, his passive nature and yet, quick-tempered personality didn’t help with people’s opinion about how. However, Conner was not stupid.

 

He _wasn’t_.

 

He just seemed so when he stood next to his boyfriend.

 

However, it worked for him to some extend. People thought that him and Tim were a match in wealth but not intelligence. They were in for a nasty surprise when Conner showed his insights.

 

There was a lot of things Conner knew that he didn’t say.

 

He knew Father was in some sort of crime syndicate or cult. He knew that the man’s organization ran internationally. He had overheard things and pierced some of the facts together.

 

Conner realized that not _all_ of his Father’s trips were about business meetings.

 

Something big was happening. Something that his Father was a part of and yet, he wasn’t allowed to know.

 

It frustrated Conner immensely.

 

There was another rarely known fact about him. He was a bit of a geek. He had watched tv series and read books and dreamed. He dreamed of a magical letter delivered to him when he reached eleven. He dreamed of being approached by beings that told him that the time was right for him to begin his magical adventures. He dreamed of things bursting into fire when he concentrated hard enough.

 

Let’s face it, who hadn’t dreamed of being the protagonist with a great destiny?

 

And so, when his boyfriend called him at too early in the morning with a cryptic message, Conner _knew_. He just knew that it was time.

 

He wasn’t sure what the exact situation was, but Tim had said about bodies… So Conner had decided that he should bring his ‘how to get away with murder’ kit. This was the kit that he had come up with after he watched some crime shows, and it was his third kit. The first two were ‘Suriving Zombie Apocalypse’ kit and ‘Magical quest’ kit. This specialized kit consisted of eight pounds of lye he had brought from a farm supply store quite some time ago, a dozen bottles of horseradish sauce, a pressurized cooker and of course, gloves and tissues paper.

 

He liked to be _throughout_.

 

He thought that it was only fair that everyone should prepare a ‘how to get away with murder’ kit, in case they _did_ need to get away with murder.

 

Conner needed to thank his lucky star that his Father was on another shady trip and wouldn’t be back until the end of the week.

 

The drive to Tim’s house was not too far but it had Conner’s mind reeling. He had come up with dozens of scenarios, and none of them were good. Perhaps he should have brought something more. Perhaps an authority. Or someone that would react properly to the fact that his boyfriend had just called him at the asscrack of dawn telling him there were bodies to be gotten rid of. He felt that it was the responsible thing to call the police, but he had always been blind to love.

 

So Conner called no one.

 

Conner parked his car and rung the bell before he stood there, waiting impatiently in front of the oak french door.

 

“Kon.” Tim greeted upon opening the door.

 

His eyes were _strange_ …

 

Tim blinked and Conner found himself staring at his boyfriend’s normal eyes again, wondering if what he had just seen was a hallucination or not. Perhaps he had watched too much tv yet again.

 

“What happened?” Conner asked, slipping in the small opening. He turned around to face Tim, frowning at his boyfriend’s appearance.

 

Tim held up his hands.

 

They were stained a deep brownish red.

 

Dry blood.

 

“Who –” Conner found himself asking.

 

Tim looked away. Conner followed his eyes.

 

The master bedroom. His parents.

 

 _Dear lord_.

 

“Do I want to know what happened?” Conner asked. Somehow, the quiet surge of adrenaline upon entering the Drake manor had kept his voice from shaking. He _should have_ felt, for the first time, what those main characters felt when they faced situations like this. He should have come up with clever sayings and questions that heightened the tension.

 

Instead, Conner just felt like he was in a dream.

 

Tim shook his head. “I have to leave in a five hours. I need to… I don’t know. I screwed up. It was a careless mistake, I should have planned it better…” Conner wrapped Tim in a careful hug, picking on the clues in the other’s words.

 

‘ _Careless mistake_ ’. ‘ _Should have planned it better_ ’.

 

It was not an accident. At least, not completely.

 

Outwardly, Conner didn’t show Tim his thought, stroking his hair gently. He took a deep breath, pushing the nausea down so that the next question wouldn’t come out as shaken as he was feeling. “What’s your plan?”

 

Tim laughed. Dryly. Years of being with his boyfriend taught Conner how to read the hidden worry beneath the depth of those beautiful eyes. “You don’t have a plan.” Conner spelled it out for Tim.

 

“I don’t. I need you.” Tim said softly.

 

Yes, Conner could see that.

 

“Show me.” Conner decided to say instead of a thousand other things that he should say in this situation. Tim took Conner’s hand, wrapping those delicate fingers around Conner’s rougher palm.

 

The layer of dry blood rubbed against Conner’s skin, sending shivers down the teen’s spine.

 

Neither of them said a word when Tim stopped in front of the master bedroom. There was an unspoken argreement. Conner sucked in a deep breath and held it. He motioned for Tim to open the door.

 

The sight that greeted Conner was gruesome. The first thing that Conner noticed that the color red was everywhere. He automatically sucked in a small breath but then gagged. The thing with books and movies was that they could _describe_ the smell, but they couldn’t really make it vivid enough for Conner to imagine. It was a good thing, too. The real deal was nothing like books or movies.

 

Standing at the doorway, Conner realized that Mr and Mrs. Drake were very, very _dead_.

 

A hysterical sound escaped his lips and Conner took a step back, keenly aware that Tim’s eyes were following his every move. “Give me a moment.” Conner said weakly.

 

Conner turned away from the sight, trying to think through the haze. His boyfriend just admitted to killing his own parents. His boyfriend was a killer. His boyfriend was a _criminal_. His boyfriend was a criminal and he just asked Conner to assist him in concealing his crime. This was not a tv show, this was real life.

 

He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he could fail and that failure meant a destroyed future. He would be a criminal as well if he failed.

 

There was a small hand on his shoulder. Tim’s.

 

“Will you help me?” Tim asked quietly.

 

_No, I shouldn’t. You just killed two people. I shouldn’t help you concealing this. I need to call the police._

 

“Yes.” Conner answered instead. He was shocked by how steady his answer came out. “My car. I have stuff in my car. Strip them off of their clothes. Pull off the rug. Start cleaning up the blood on the wall and the bed frame. I’ll be right back.”

 

He didn’t pause to consider his decision. He was afraid he would change his mind. He ignored the hint of a smile on Tim’s lips. He knew what it meant. He had passed a test of some sort. Conner didn’t… _couldn’t_ think too much about what sort of test he had just passed. He would come to regret his life choices.

 

Conner brought the whole kit to the living room, dropping the pressurized cooker on the counter. “Add the lye powder in then add water until the powder is dissolved then put the cooker on the stove. We need to heat it pass boiling degree.” He instructed, falling back to the lessons he had memorized after watching the show. He even checked the science to make sure that it was legit.

 

“Put on gloves first. Finger prints. Then help me drag the bodies to the tub. As soon as the lye solution is done, we are pouring it in. It should dissolve the bodies in around three hours. And these are… these are bottles of horseradish sauce. You need to –” He didn’t get the chance to finish his rambling before lips pressed against his own in a passionate kiss.

 

Conner melted into the kiss, combing through Tim’s hair. “What’s that for?” He asked breathlessly, his face flushed.

 

Tim smiled. “Is it possible to fall in love with you twice?” He asked. Conner hoped that it was rhetorical… But if not, well, he was flattered.

 

Conner smiled despite the situation. “I sure hope so. You are not the only one with a brain in our relationship.” He joked lightly, leaning in for a second kiss which Tim gladly provided.

 

“Right, what did you say about horseradish again? What is it for?” Tim asked.

 

Conner took a deep breath. “Horseradish sauce. It reacts with Luminol the same way blood does, so instead of cleaning it with bleach which will still leave traces behind, it’s better to create a false positive.” He had thought about saying these words for so long, they came out natural. He felt smart and confident.

 

Okay, so maybe he could get away with murder after all.

 

Tim gave him an adoring look, tracing a line across Conner’s jawline. He pressed a ghost-like kiss on Conner’s ear and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘ _my Lieutenant_ ’. It didn’t make much sense so Conner didn’t think about it.

 

Look at him, he was getting good at blocking out things that would make him regret his own life.

 

“Let’s get to it then.”

 

* * *

 

Red Robin studied Tim’s boyfriend (technically, his, too) with a small, satisfied smile. Conner had passed the test with flying color. He was much smarter than Red Robin had given him credits for and was much more collected about the whole thing than expected.

 

It was good.

 

He was _perfect_.

 

Of course, Red Robin could detect the hesitancy that still presented in Conner’s twitchy movements, or moments when he seemed to swallow back the urge to puke. It was to be expected though. Darkness, but he was _beautiful_ when he worked. Red Robin was confident he could groom Conner into something much deadlier and a whole lot more magnificient from the raw material he had been given to work with. A few more pushes and Conner would be perfect for Red Robin’s needs. He just needed to channel that devotion a bit more.

 

Together with Conner, Red Robin had stripped Tim’s parents and dragged their stiffening bodies to the bathtub and while Red Robin was in charge of making the lye solution. Conner would be cleaning the blood from the wall and bedframe while Red Robin cut the dead Drakes’ clothes into small pieces to be tossed into the fireplace. It was an efficient process and they divided the work between them so that neither of them had to do too much while the other idled.

 

The sheets and bed drapes had been a bit more of a challenge though. They couldn’t exactly clean up the blood normally and the horseradish would have left traces behind. In the end, Red Robin decided to burn them, replacing it with a fresh set.

 

It took hours for the process to finish and through it all, Red Robin observed Conner, watching him work. With each passing second, his determination to have Conner only strengthened.

 

When the last of the lye solution was poured into the tub to dissolve the bodies, Conner sat Red Robin down. “We only have to wait now. Shouldn’t be much longer.” Conner said quietly. He seemed to be searching for the right words to say.

 

Red Robin remained silent, waiting for Conner to speak his mind.

 

He wasn’t disappointed.

 

“… What… What do you intend to do? After this?” Conner asked quietly. Red Robin tilted his face back and studied Conner. He had proven that for now, he could be trusted. As soon as the bodies were gone, there would be nothing to connect Red Robin with the murder beside Conner’s testimony and even that would be hard to check. Red Robin had made sure there was no evidence left.

 

He thought that it was time to reward Conner.

 

“Later… I suspect the newspaper will have a field day with the mysterious disappearance of the Drakes. All three of them, disappearing overnight. I imagine that the headline would be something like ‘The Drakes went missing: Their young son was the prime suspect’ and then perhaps, after awhile, it would become something like ‘A body found, police believed it was Timothy Drake.’ And then after awhile, you can watch the show on television, Discovery channel, I believe. The mysterious disappearance of a household.” Red Robin smiled sharply.

 

Conner deflated. “You… You are leaving?”

 

Red Robin nodded. “I have to. I have business that needs my attention and… let just say… international wanted notice isn’t good for what I have in mind.” The Knight combed his fingers through Conner’s hair, humming a pleased tone when Conner leaned into the touch.

 

“Can I… Can I come with you?” Conner asked.

 

Red Robin focused his attention back to Conner who seemed shocked by his own words. Red Robin suppressed a smirk. It looked like he wouldn’t need to work much after all.

 

“No.” Red Robin answered simply. He wanted Conner to come with him, the Darkness would welcome such a talented man into its rank… But Conner would be a liability if he left right now. “Your tie with me runs too deep. You will be a suspect if you disappear as well.”

 

Conner nodded. Acceptance.

 

There wasn’t much time left before morning came and Red Robin had to leave. He thought he could spend those minutes with Conner. “I need your blood.” He said, holding out a small plastic bottle that had been empty.

 

“What for?” Conner asked curiously. He winced when Red Robin cut his palm, letting blood dripple slowly into the the bottle while the Knight retrieved a bottle of table salt.

 

“I will show you in a bit.” He said, dropping a spoonful of salt into the blood and mixed them up. “Salt slows down the blood coagulation process, keep it in liquid state for longer. Low temperature works best to store it but I don’t have that luxury right now. Sugar can also replace the salt but ants are bothersome to deal with.” He explained while he worked.

 

When he had enough blood, Red Robin capped the bottle and placed it down. “Look very carefully.” He ordered Conner.

 

“Okay… Ouch!” Conner cried out when Red Robin dug his nail into Conner’s fresh injury, pushing his thumb in just slightly. “You’re hurting me!” Conner winced.

 

“Good. Then you know you are injured for real and this is not a dream.” Red Robin placed an apologetic kiss on Conner’s palm. He closed his eyes, listening to the whispers of Darkness.

 

“B, I need to borrow your power. Please allow me to heal my Lieutenant.” Red Robin said calmly, tilting his head back when the winds brushed over his skin, murmuring softly.

 

“ _Red Robin…_ ”

 

“B… I need your help.”

 

“ _As you wish, my Dark Knight…_ ”

 

Red Robin opened his eyes, keenly aware of Conner’s gasp. He knew his eyes were Dark now. The Darkness’ power was intoxicating as it was addicting. He wished that he could drink in the darkness forever. However, he had a job to do.

 

“Hush.” Red Robin whispered, pushing a sliver of power into Conner’s palm, weaving into his flesh. He could feel the other’s shudder through their temporary bond. “Watch, Kon.” Red Robin said softly, knitting Conner’s flesh right in front of his eyes.

 

Red Robin smiled at the expression on Conner’s face.

 

“ _Holy fucking shit…_ ”

 

* * *

 

“So… magic…?” Conner asked hesitantly. “You are a wizard?”

 

Red Robin chuckled. “No. I’m a Knight, and the ones with magical power are usually called mages, not witches or wizards. We don’t ride broomsticks across the sky at night. And we don’t have Hogwarts, either in case you intend to ask.” That made Conner’s mouth close with a snap.

 

Red Robin was snuggling with Conner on the couch, allowing himself the moment of luxury before he had to leave.

 

“So… a Knight, with a capital K, and you want me to be your… Lieutenant, with a capital L.” Conner said slowly.

 

Red Robin nodded.

 

He hadn’t explained that he served the Darkness though. He felt that Conner would associate the Darkness with evilness and that wasn’t what he needed right now. His potential Lieutenant needed to open himself to their world and their methods a little bit more before Red Robin felt confident enough that he wouldn’t bail upon hearing that last important fact.

 

He also conveniently didn’t mention that he was Red Robin, not Timothy Drake. He felt that Conner wouldn’t like the fact that he had been cuddling with a near stranger after helping him dissolving two bodies in a bathtub.

 

“And there will be a final battle, _the_ final battle and… you want my help?” Conner asked.

 

Again, Red Robin nodded.

 

“Oh…”

 

There was a pause of awe.

 

“But… I don’t have training. I mean, I go to the gym, I can lift, and I know how to kill werewolves, with silver bullets, right? But you have magic and I have…” Conner struggled with his words. He gestured toward his own body. “… _This_.”

 

Red Robin chuckled. “Relax, Kon. Not now. You don’t need to know anything, I can teach you later. And as for magic, you can be blessed by… my mentor. He will give you the power you need to assist me. For now, it’s best if you learn a form of martial art to defend yourself and attack, perhaps a weapon as well. I don’t require proficiency, but pick a style that you prefer first. We have… a group that can help you further your study after you have picked something for yourself.”

 

“A group?”

 

“A group.” Red Robin confirmed. “For now though, let’s forget about it. I won’t be seeing you directly for a long time. The blood I took would be used for brief communication until I find a secured line.” He paused. “As your first Lieutenant duty, I order you to stop asking and just enjoy the moment while still can.”

 

Conner struggled for a moment before he pursed his lips. He nodded.

 

Red Robin smiled.

 

 _Perfect_.

 

* * *

 

 

After that conversation, all that was left between them was a comfortable peace that Red Robin enjoyed. Soon, the grandfather clock chimed, alerting the pair of the time. Red Robin sighed softly.

 

"I'll have to leave soon so... wait for me?" Red Robin whispered softly so he wouldn't disturb the peaceful silence between them. He stroked Conner's hair, pushing the strands back. He felt Conner tightened his grip around Red Robin's waist, pulling him closer. He buried his nose in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, breathing in the familiar scent. Maybe he was getting attached as well. It wasn't a bad feeling.

 

"Always." Conner whispered, risking a glance toward the window. The sky was getting bright and the stars were slowly burning out. Time was running short.

 

Red Robin cupped Conner's cheek and turned his face away from the window. "Don't look." He said. Red Robin didn't want to know how much time they had left. He studied Conner's face carefully, memorizing his perfection, the dip of his dimple, the slope of his nose. This was his last glance to what would soon be a memory. "I will definitely be back to take you away."

 

"I know."

 

Red Robin hummed.

 

“Go, Kon. You need your own alibi, too. Remember, you don’t know I’m missing. You don’t know anything about this until someone says something to you or until I don’t show up for a few days.” Red Robin instructed.

 

Conner reluctantly untangled himself from Red Robin. “I’ve got it. Please be safe.” He said softly.

 

The taste of Conner’s lips felt like a promise.

 

_Soon. I will have you exactly where I want you. On your knees, by my side with blood on your hands and a smile on your lips._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Damian scowled darkly at the bald man at the meeting table. Arrogance. Ignorance. _Council member of the Light_. Was there anything the man had that Damian didn't dislike? He suppressed a low growl that wanted to escape. His eyes narrowed.
> 
> Ra's, as if sensing Damian's emotions, placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He tried to show compassion. Damian resisted the urge to shrug the hand off.
> 
> Unwanted.
> 
> "Ladies and gentlemen, mages of the Light, recently, I have come across a very promising find. Allow me to leave out the name of my source as per our aggreement but this... person... has a very high level access to the Darkness' force and secrets. We can win this war with this information. All we need to do is to plan carefully." The bald man babbled.
> 
> Damian clenched his fists. There was a traitor amidst their rank?! Who would dare betray their ideal? Damian would _slaughter_ them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know that this is supposed to be the Dami chapter but… But half way through the chapter I realize that this bit needs to appear first. I halted the Dami chapter to write this one. So…
> 
> … On the first of May, I present to you… _Plot twist_
> 
> How many of you saw this one coming?
> 
> Translation (French)
> 
> L’Obscurité: The Darkness  
> sorcières: Sorcerers  
> Dieu: God

Clark woke slowly. The pain on his back had faded, leaving behind a dull ache. He didn’t remember hurting it. Maybe he had scrathed himself or something. When he got out of the car, perhaps when he fell asleep while editting Lois’ work, or a snake’s fang.

 

What?

 

His mind felt hazy. Bad dream, he suspected. In it, snakes attacked the diner he was with Lois, making his insurance rates shot through the roof. One killed Lois, and the other almost bit him, and then he crawled past its dead eyes to the phone booth to call for help. He…

 

Clark opened his eyes.

 

He was lying on a narrow bed, sans shoes, sans his watch, wearing a soft white gown.

 

Clark looked around. How had he –

 

Memories lapped at his mind. Snakes. There had really been snakes. They had come into the diner and bitten…

 

Saliva gathered in his mouth. It tasted bitter of panic, fear and bile. It’d been real. Lois was dead.

 

Oh God.

 

_Lois was dead._

 

Clark had worked hard not to get into a military school and now he regretted it. Maybe if he’d just got in one he could have reacted better, moved faster, _something_. Lois was the most amazing woman he had ever gotten the chance to know and now she was dead because he didn’t react fast enough. Clark wished he hadn’t panicked. He wished he had helped her.

 

Dizziness ebbed at him. Clark frowned. He had to stay awake. There had been two snakes, and he remembered seeing the dead body of one, the other might still be out there. He had to…

 

Clark glanced to the side, sitting on the bed next to him was a man with broad shoulders and an eager smile on his face. Clark knew the man. He had met him before in… He… He…

 

… had to keep looking. _L’Obscurité_ , the Darkness, was close.

 

Kal-El knelt, sinking his fingers into the sandy ground of the Egyptian soil. He had always wondered what _l’Obscurité_ ’s human shape would look like. Tall, short, dark, fair? He’d tried to be open and pictured all. He had never expected _l’Obscurité_ to look so… young. Brown skin, intelligent eyes, midnight hair, _youthful_.

 

As far as tactics went, it was a cruel one. Soulless monster. Kal-El hated killing children.

 

The dirt crept beneath his fingernails, scratching his skin. Magic blessed by the Darkness was Dark but the Element was neutral, they would point him toward l’Obscurité.

 

Breathing slowly, Kal-El pushed his _power_ out.

 

The power swept through him. At once, he felt both alive and damned.

 

As a child, the priests had warned him against using the Devil’s power. His mother had been burned for her heresy but the priests had sensed that his spirit was good and spared him. Sometimes, Kal-El wondered if that had been a mistake.

 

Their mistake, or gift, had brought him here. He watched the ground around him pulse, sending prickles of pain-pleasure up his hand, his arm.

 

Kal-El gave himself to it, letting the coolness of the night sand sweep over him. There was a _Obscurité_ in the world. It hungered for priests and mortals alike, beguiling some, killing others. Out of spite, it touched some and gave them the curse of darkness. It gifted them with magic.

 

It was a cursed gift. Kal-El knew his power was wrong but it allowed him to do things no other priests could. If he could use his ability to destroy the evil at its source then perhaps some good could come from his life.

 

The pressure on his magic grew, tugging his hand in past his wrist.

 

He considered pulling his arm away. He decided against it. When he’d used this method to find the mages of the Darkness, the earth had drawn in his fingers. For _l’Obscurité_ , he shouldn’t be surprised that it wanted more. More of him, more power.

 

It would have it.

 

Kal-El pushed more power out. The earth trembled around him.

 

And then red-black lights broke out from the ground. They twitched, stretching small butterfly-wings.

 

Kal-El stared at them. They were beautiful. And, like him, Dark.

 

They danced around him for a moment and then flew to the left.

 

Kal-El yanked his hand out of the sand. A man stepped into the edge of Kal-El’s sight.

 

“How many people do we have left?” Kal-El asked in Arabic.

 

“Fifteen, three are badly injured though.”

 

Kal-El rose. Six years before, Hal had conducted witch-hunts. After countering actual _sorcières_ , he had uncovered his own wicked strength. Hal had wondered if others had been cursed like him and began seeking for more information. Shortly afterward, he was discreetly referred to Kal-El.

 

After sharing the little they knew, they began contacting people of other faiths. The worry of heresy lessened the more they learned. Many learned men had discovered things over the centuries. Alone they were vulnerable. Together they stood a chance of destroying the monster that preyed on humanity.

 

“Take the injured back to the inn.” Kal-El said. “I’ll take the others and –”

 

“We’ve been at this for two days.” Hal’s voice was gentle. “You need to rest.”

 

“We’re close. Can’t you feel it?”

 

Hal frowned. “Yes, and it frightens me. God will forgive you if you rest for a night.”

 

“There’s – ”

 

Kal-El looked away. He’d discovered many things as he learned how to control his abilities in secret. That _l’Obscurité_ had blessed him with its power. That innocent people would die while mages lived in luxury. That there was no _Dieu_ , no Light, nothing.

 

If Hal still believed, then Kal-El did not want to take his hope away. Let him die believing in God. It hurt no one.

 

Hal offered him a hand. Kal-El took it and rose.

 

They walked. Kal-El tried to comfort himself by thinking back over the last few hours. The mage community had been destroyed and while the sounds of children screaming would haunt him for many years to come, Kal-El desperately hoped that death would cleanse their spirits. _L’Obscurité_ was strong but humanity could resist it.

 

As for the ones who had escaped…

 

“I want you to summon the others.” Kal-El said. He’d come close to ending this. He would not give up now. “Have them meet us at that little shop in Cairo tomorrow.”

 

“It’ll be done.”

 

Kal-El nodded. He placed a hand on his belt, withdrawing the weapon from its holster and studied the gleaming dagger made of clear green stone. He had been the one to discover the precious rock. It happened by accident. He didn’t have the Sight, no but he had his Instinct to guide him. It had not failed him.

 

… _It was years back, in France. His Instinct had guided him to an old tomb of a long forgotten royalty. It was hidden so well no tomb robbers had even taken anything yet. In the crypt, there had been gemstone. Green gemstone that Kal-El had never seen before. The words embedded on the stone wall told him the story of a fallen star piece._

_And then Kal-El_ touched. _Something_ happened _._

_The gem_ sucked in _his power. The gem was_ alien. _It wasn’t from this world so it wasn’t affected by l’Obscurité as all other things. It wasn’t meant to be found or meant to be on Earth._

Kryptonite _._

_Kal-El named the gem_ ‘Kryptonite’ _to follow the traditional naming of the Greek. ‘ite’ meant ‘rock’ and Krypt as in the gem was discovered in a crypt. It was supposed to be Cryptonite at first but then the name changed over the years until the name Kryptonite became more popular among the witch hunters._

_That precious stone was the holy grail that they had been searching for. They mined the gem from the crypt, shaping it into different weapons. Daggers, arrows,_ offensive _weapons that were meant to hurt_ real _mages. It wouldn’t affect normal people so even if the witch hunter accidentally injured a non-magical person, the person wouldn’t be in any worse harm than being cut by a normal rock._

_It was perfect…_

 

Ahead, the trees shook. A moment later, the wind tumbled over him. Its cool breath caressed his skin and drank away his body’s warmth.

 

“ _Kal-Ellll…_ ”

 

“Did you hear something?” Kal-El asked.

 

“No.”

 

“ _Kal-Ellll…_ ”

 

“It’s just the wind.”

 

The wind brushed over Kal-El, sending chilled tendrils over his face, through his hair.

 

“ _Kal-Elllll…_ ”

 

A tremor darted through Kal-El. It wasn’t the wind, it was _l’Obscurité_. Kal-El sucked in a tiny breath, trying not to inhale the tainted air more than he had to. Water Element was powerful here, the Nile had given it strength but even so, the presence of Darkness was still strong.

 

“What’s wrong?” Hal asked and halted his steps.

 

“… _l’Obscurité_ … It’s here. Powerful and…” Kal-El closed his eyes. The Darkness was calling out to him. Kal-El had always been able to resist the temptation. However, this time, it wasn’t just the general darkness. There was something concentrated in Cairo, something that was touched by _l’Obscurité_.

 

Then something _shifted_.

 

Kal-El gasped.

 

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Hal asked urgently, already drawing his weapon. Knuckles brass embedded with Kryptonite. “Kal-El?”

 

“Two. There are two of them. In Cairo. _L’Obscurité_ and something just as Dark as it.” Kal-El answered, recoiling from the duo sources of darkness. They were moving toward each other. They would join soon and then when they did, that area would be tainted with darkness.

 

“Let’s move.” Kal-El said calmly.

 

He felt anything _but_ calm. His mind was reeling. He… It…

 

… He blinked. He had fallen asleep. He was lucky.

 

_Rrrll._

 

Kal-El sat up, pain lanced up his arm, centering him. He was on a bed, in a dark room. A figure stood at the end of the bed, holding out an arm.

 

 _Rrrrl. Rrrrl_.

 

Something about the figure triggered every bit of survival instinct that Kal-El had. Kal-El held out his fist but then he realized. His finger was bare. No rings, no conduit. _No power_.

 

The figure cocked its head and stepped out of the darkness into a lighter area. The figure was a female. Short black hair and eyes that didn’t settle for one color. Blue. Green. Brown. Blue. Green. Brown. Blue –

 

The female chuckled.

 

It was a terrifying sound.

 

Kal-El slipped off the bed. His legs trembled but held him up.

 

The woman walked around the bed toward him. There was something moving in her shadow. It fluttered and slowly gave rise to something with wings. Kal-El looked at the shifting shapes.

 

Bats. They were bats.

 

Obscurité-blessed instinct moved Kal-El. He grabbed the sheet, sensing its faint tie to the Earth. The connection was too weak to be of any use though, and if Kal-El had his conduit, it might be a different matter but here he was, helpless and conduit-less and –

 

Kal-El yanked the sheet free. His attacker reeked of dark magic. At this moment though, any ideas were better than no idea at all.

 

He pushed out, sending a pulse of magic through the sheet. His power was wild and uncontrollable though, without the conduit, he couldn’t command it to do a specific task. All he could hope for was as much damage as possible while he found a way to get out of this room… There were others here, in the room with him. They were sleeping, but one man, he had woken up and was staring.

 

Kal-El had an oath. He would not pull normal people into this battle if he could help it.

 

The bat like things attacked.

 

Kal-El flinched at the feel of magic brushing against his skin. The taint of Darkness was still as strong as the first day. Kal-El had never said yes to it though, he never would.

 

So he fought.

 

It probably looked ridiculous from an outside perspective. A guy trying to attack a woman with a bed sheet while said woman created bats out of her shadow.

 

His instinct told him to dodge. He did.

 

The bats circled the woman.

 

“Who are you?” Kal-El found himself asking, breathing heavily. Even just an ineffective use of magic without a conduit left him breathless. There was a reason why wands existed in the first place. Mages _needed_ it. They couldn’t use their power without it.

 

The woman studied him like a scientist studying a specimen. She answered. Her voice was soft. “Black Bat.”

 

Black Bat.

 

Not a name he was familiar with, but _l’Obscurité_ had many Servants. She could be one of it. She could be new. It pained him to see such a young woman serving such a being like the Darkness.

 

There was a flying projectile, coming from the bed next to him towards Black Bat. Instinctively, she dodged.

 

Kal-El pounced. He covered her with the sheet and then sent wild, untamed magic through the fabric. He didn’t know if she could feel it. He hoped she did. The woman, Black Bat, struggled beneath the sheet until the man on the bed next to him called out.

 

“Hey, stop it, you.”

 

The sound stilled both Black Bat and Kal-El. The witch hunter turned to the man.

 

He recoiled like he had just been touched by poison.

 

The man was so much like the young Darkness he had found in Cairo. Darker, even. Black heart and Black soul and a Black nothingness that seemed to suck everything in. They were held back by thin ropes made of light.

 

Kal-El once heard that in the force of the mages opposing the Darkness, there had been one with the power of restrains.

 

The figure beneath the sheet stopped shuffling.

 

The bed sheet sank on the ground at the sudden disappearance of Black Bat.

 

Kal-El looked at the man who just smiled a bright smile at him. He looked… Kal-El didn’t want to be mean… But he looked… _slow_.

 

Before Kal-El could think too much on the matter though, dizziness swept over him. He stumbled and caught himself on the bed. Kal-El…

 

His name was Clark Kent.

 

No. It was Kal-El.

 

Clark.

 

Kal-El.

 

 _Who_ was he?

 

Foolish question. Who did the world need him to be?

 

The answer came easily without a second thought. Lois. He would avenge her death. She wouldn’t be able to rest until justice had been delivered. Kal-El would make sure of it.

 

Kal-El stepped over the stripped of shivering fabric and approached the man. “Thank you.” He said sincerely. He didn’t wish for anyone to have witnessed what just happened. But without the man’s interference, things could have turned out for the worse. He still didn’t understand how a single man could affect the outcome of this but he was glad.

 

He also wanted to know why a man with so much darkness would actually… help Kal-El. He had thought that the man would assist Black Bat for sure.

 

“You’re welcome. That was really cool.” The man said. He looked cheerful, bumbling… He looked… unthreatening.

 

“Kal-El.” He found himself introducing.

 

The man beamed. He picked at his necklace, pulling out a metal tag. There were words written on it. The man with the darkness inside studied the tag, squinting his eyes. His mouth opened and followed the words soundlessly before he looked back up at Kal-El.

 

“Hi. I’m… B… Bru… Brucie.” The man said, offering his hand to Kal-El.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra ignored the various unspoken things her family greeted her with upon her appearance. She had flung the door open, stepping inside hurriedly, trench coat pillowing behind her.

 

She had startled Oracle, and Red Robin, and Deathstroke and Nightwing and _others_. She didn’t care. She would startle every single Servant if she must.

 

“You forgot the meaning of knocking?” A voice said. Annoyed. Startled. Surprised.

 

Cassandra glanced at the voice’s owner. Bat-Wing. Unimportant in the grand scheme of things. She could tell what he thought of her or what he thought of the current situation. It made no difference.

 

“Black Bat.” Deathstroke said. Attentiveness. Someone was finally picking up on her tells. _Finally_. “You have news.” The Lieutenant stated simply.

 

Cassandra nodded.

 

“Found… _him_.”  She said, emphasizing the word.

 

Both Red Robin and Nightwing inhaled sharply at that.

 

They let her clarify her words.

 

“Found… the Darkness. Found his body.” Cassandra stated.

 

The room erupted in a maelstrom of actions and it was the silent language she was well-versed in.

 

So Black Bat _observed_. And read the silent words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Very_ important chapter. I know it's short. I _know_. But I also feel that any shortness was made up by this chapter's revelation. Next chapter is the Dami chapter, I promise.
> 
> P/S: Go figure. Clark's weakness is Kryptonite. Ha. Only with a little twist.
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Damian scowled darkly at the bald man at the meeting table. Arrogance. Ignorance. _Council member of the Light_. Was there anything the man had that Damian didn't dislike? He suppressed a low growl that wanted to escape. His eyes narrowed.
> 
> Ra's, as if sensing Damian's emotions, placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He tried to show compassion. Damian resisted the urge to shrug the hand off.
> 
> Unwanted.
> 
> "Ladies and gentlemen, mages of the Light, recently, I have come across a very promising find. Allow me to leave out the name of my source as per our aggreement but this... person... has a very high level access to the Darkness' force and secrets. We can win this war with this information. All we need to do is to plan carefully." The bald man babbled.
> 
> Damian clenched his fists. There was a traitor amidst their rank?! Who would dare betray their ideal? Damian would slaughter them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late update. I crashed hard after the trip and I didn't start writing again until yesterday. I hope you like this one :D I'm sorry Lex and Ra's are kind of a jerk... I might have accidentally messed up their personalities...
> 
> P/S: I have taken a combination of the real Zhenru Temple's complex mixing in with the elements of the story :D I hope you guys don't mind. 
> 
> Warning: High expectations from guardian figures.

“Grandson, I expect you to behave while we attend the meeting. This will be your first official introduction to the Light, you are not to be a disappointment.” Ra’s said sternly, looking down at Damian with a patronizing look on his face. Said boy just looked right back, unintimidated by his grandfather.

 

Ra’s had taken to introduce Damian to some of the most basic forms of Element manipulation after a simple test to see which Element the boy had. Having starting his study in magic in secret, Damian quickly mastered the forms and managed to impress his grandfather in the progress. The older man was convinced that Damian was a prodigy and would soon outshine other heirs easily.

 

The most annoying thing for Damian to deal with was the use of his magic without _his_ conduit. After his death, he assumed as per agreement, his Lieutenant would be the one who kept his wand and personal belongings safe from harm until the time he returned to reclaim them. For young magic practitioners, they were often given general conduits. Something that could be used to channel their magic but not specifically made for them which would cause their magic to be _less_ than it actually was.

 

This method could be compared to the use of pencils for young pupils when they first learned how to write and after they had perfected their penmanship, each one could go on and choose a specific type of pens they preferred to use.

 

Still, while the general wand had worked… adequate given its nature, Damian still missed his real conduit something fierce. He wanted to feel the full extent of his power, not the mere trickle of magic the wand gave.

 

Another problem Damian had found out shortly after his awakening was the fact that he didn’t have a method to contact any Servants of the Darkness. It wasn’t as if they had established a method before they died and normally, his Lieutenant would be the one to connect him with the other Servants and Knights. However, his Lieutenant had been _missing_. He didn’t know blood magic and to use his Father as a messenger would be a great insult.

 

Damian was stuck.

 

He hated it.

 

Now, a few weeks after his first ‘introduction’ to the world of magic, Ra’s had decided that it was the right time to show him off like some sort of show dog. The thought made Damian’s blood boil with rage but he held back from saying anything too disrespectful. He couldn’t risk being exterminated or exposed before the time was right.

 

Still, it didn’t mean Damian couldn’t show how displeased he was at the idea of this ‘meeting’.

 

“Grandson.” Ra’s called him back to reality, annoyance crept into his voice. Damian was distracted. Ra’s hated it when his words were ignored.

 

“Understood.” Damian bit out. “I will not shame you.”

 

“See that you don’t.”

 

Ra’s gestured for Damian to follow him. The boy walked briskly behind the other mage, mentally reminding himself of the fact that killing anyone in the meeting was a very bad idea.

 

The meeting was held at Shanghai, China this time. The Light was an international organization and it seemed that they had a specific meeting place at six out of seven continents with the exception of Antarctica. The meeting place was located in the most populated city of that specific continent and the location rotated after each meeting.

 

A quick search and a question had confirmed that the cities in question were: Shanghai, China for Asia; Lagos, Nigeria for Africa; Sydney for Australia; Moscow, Russia for Europe; Mexico City, Mexico for North America and São Paulo, Brazil for South America.

 

Damian had also learned that the Light had become very organized after the Knights’ deaths. He supposed changes were to be expected, it had been roughly a thousand years after all. Supposedly, there was an international Council consisted of seven members each represented a continent. In each continent, each country had their own council members but they all had lower ranking compared to the official international Council members.

 

Officially, the most important of decision making fell into the hand of the international Council but in case of conflicting arguments, polls for lower members could be a method to settle a conflict as well. Depending on the nature of the meeting, more or less members could attend. According to Damian’s knowledge, this meeting fell into the middle category of a higher ranking meeting, not quite a meeting between seven members of the Council, but not a meeting for all council members of every country, either.

 

Once Ra’s and Damian had arrived to Shanghai, Ra’s had taken his young heir to a temple. Ra’s informed Damian that the temple was the Zhenru Temple, a famous historical site for both non-magical and magical communities. It had been set up in the Southern Song Dynasty and then later reconstructed in the 1320s. It was also a famous tourist attraction in the city. This fact allowed the temple to mask the arrival and departure of several foreigners without arousing suspicion.

 

Secretly, Damian thought that it was a rather intelligent option. However, he refused to voice his thought. He wondered how developed _their_ side was at this point. Hopefully, enough to compete with the Light. He didn’t want to think of the Darkness’ Servants as an unorganized bunch while the Light had so much time to develop to this level.

 

Damian followed Ra’s to the second hall on the right side of the complex, willing himself to look straight forward and not ogled the different carvings and pillars like a fool. The walk was long and the pair eventually reached a deserted area. There was a separate house that Damian assumed would be where the meeting took place and standing guard were two monks, each one flanked a side of the huge gate.

 

“Password.”

 

The guard said stiffly in an accented voice. Damian straightened himself. It would be good to remember the passwords for future references. Ra’s let out a small, annoyed sound like he couldn’t _believe_ the guards couldn’t recognize him but he spoke anyway.

 

“The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make _our_ stand.”

 

With a startled jolt, Damian recognized the password. It was quoted from the famous words of the astronomer Carl Sagan. The ‘pale blue dot’. He clenched his fists, unsure what to feel about the specifically chosen words with its significant meaning. He watched the guards looked at each other before nodding.

 

“Please place your wands and additional weapons outside before entering.” The guards said. Ra’s let out a long suffering sigh but pulled out his wand and placed it on a tray next to various other wands and some other objects as well. Interesting. Damian didn’t think the mages of this time could still use objects as conduits. He thought they would all use wands by now. Damian took out his practiced wand and placed on the tray as well before making his way inside.

 

The first thing he spotted was the sigils carved into everything. The wooden pillars. The ceiling. Even the floor. They looked old.

 

Ra’s noticed Damian’s look.

 

“Protection sigils. They block all the access to magic so no one inside the room can use magic. It’s a measure against assassination attempts on the Council members and also a method to prevent the Darkness or its Servants from obtaining information of the meetings.” Ra’s explained.

 

Ah.

 

Damian suppressed a smirk. He didn’t need to use any magic to spy on these mages. Ra’s had been a fool for not thinking that there could be spies among the members. Granted, he supposed that it was hard to imagine that his own heir would be a Knight.

 

The cruelty of Fate was ridiculous sometimes.

 

To think, Robin was reborn the heir of one of the _international_ Council members.

 

* * *

 

“Is this who I think it is?” A voice spoke up and Damian dragged his attention to the one that had spoken. It was a woman. She looked exotic. Curly raven hair draped over her shoulders and reached her mid-back. Tan skin and very… busty breasts.

 

“Diana Prince, meet my Heir, Damian al Ghul.” Ra’s introduced importantly. “Grandson, this is Diana Prince, she represents South America. She is from the Amazon Rainforest.” Ra’s spoke with distaste. It was as if he could not understand how a _woman_ and one that was from _that_ region could be an international member.

 

“An honor.” Damian said simply, clasping a hand with the woman. She had a strong, firm grip. Damian felt his lips curled up slightly. It seemed that the more Ra’s disapproved of something, the more Damian liked it.

 

“The honor is all mine. I have heard a lot about you, all good things, I assure. You are among the most promising heirs to date. I hope I will be seeing you more in the future.” Diana said with a kind smile.

 

Damian forced a polite smile on his face. Socializing annoyed him. However, it was needed if he wanted to have a steady position among the higher ups.

 

“Where is _your_ Heir, Miss Prince? Or has she finally proved not as… promising as your words seem to indicate?” Ra’s cut in.

 

“Oh Donna? She is talking to the others right now.” Diana either ignored Ra’s rude comments or she was just that naïve. Damian hoped it was the first option.

 

“A pity.” Ra’s said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Come, Grandson. There are people to be met. I expect you to remember their names and faces at the end of the meeting. You will be working with them a lot soon.” The old mage said, walking past Diana and reached another person.

 

“Victor Stone.” Ra’s greeted calmly. The ‘Victor Stone’ in question turned around abruptly and scowled at Ra’s.

 

“Ra’s al Ghul.” Victor greeted right back, his voice dripped with fake sweetness. “I see that you have brought another youngster to corrupt.” The man was black and Damian could spot a fake arm and from the sound of his steps, a fake leg as well.

 

“Mind your tone, Stone. Just because you are the youngest here doesn’t mean you are the best. Your continent probably ran out of mages to pick a half machine like you.” Ra’s narrowed his eyes.

 

“Mind _your_ condescending tone, al Ghul. They say respect is earned. So far you haven’t done a thing to earn a _lick_ of respect from me. I can’t believe no one has yet to kick you out with your _racist_ , _sexist_ comments. Don’t forget you are a person of color, too.”

 

“Tt.” Damian let out a small sound which seemed to remind Ra’s of his presence. The older mage seemed to suppress a growl.

 

“ _Victor Stone_ of Africa.” Ra’s jerked his head.

 

Damian inclined his head in greeting. He wondered if the other members fought each other this much or if his grandfather’s personality was just that… pleasant to be around. His self-proclaimed self-importance would separate him from the rest of the group. That was an opening Damian could take advantage of.

 

The meeting couldn’t happen soon enough. Ra’s was determined to drag Damian around to meet various Council members while Damian did his best to remember the faces, names and any noticeable traits the members had. Some of them brought their Heirs along, others, such as Victor, seemed to be too young to have an heir.

 

Just when the meeting was about to start and everyone had taken a seat around the large table with assigned cards naming their continent or country, the large gate opened once again and came a man without hair. He wore a suit. He had that same look as Ra’s. Damian had named the look ‘ _you’re all beneath me_ ’ look.

 

A second Ra’s. That was just dainty.

 

The bald man took a seat. He represented _America_. Damian fought the urge to wrinkle his nose in distaste. America was doomed. Ra’s leaned down to whisper in Damian’s ear. “Lex Luthor… _businessman_ and mage.” Damian read his grandfather’s words as ‘He brought the seat with his fortune.’ It probably wasn’t far from the truth.

 

The meeting started with general statistical reports from various continents and countries. The number of new mages, new bases of operation, fundings… etc. It was quite standard and boring though Damian made the effort to remember the important figures for later uses.

 

The second part of the meeting started shortly after that. Apparently, this was the part where the members reported special findings or any new information regarding any special individuals or any movement on the Darkness side. Damian leaned forward, focusing on the topic now. He wanted to know what the Light knew and he also wanted to know if it was possible for him to rejoin his family.

 

Lex Luthor stood up.

 

Damian scowled darkly at the bald man at the meeting table. Arrogance. Ignorance. _Council member of the Light_. Was there anything the man had that Damian didn't dislike? He suppressed a low growl that wanted to escape. His eyes narrowed.

 

Ra's, as if sensing Damian's emotions, placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He tried to show compassion. Damian resisted the urge to shrug the hand off.

 

Unwanted.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, mages of the Light, recently, I have come across a very promising find. Allow me to leave out the name of my source as per our agreement but this... person... has a very high level access to the Darkness' force and secrets. We can win this war with this information. All we need to do is to plan carefully." The bald man babbled.

 

Damian clenched his fists. There was a traitor amidst their rank?! Who would dare betray their ideal? Damian would _slaughter_ them.

 

He swallowed the murderous urge to focus back on Lex Luthor. Ra’s decided to interrupt. “And how accurate is your… source? Some lowly Servants?” He asked.

 

There were murmurs among the members.

 

Lex Luthor narrowed his eyes. “No.” He began calmly. “I know what you are trying to do and I will not tell their name. Let’s just say… This is one of the _Lieutenants_ of the Darkness.”

 

The volume of the murmurs rose. Everyone seemed to have questions now.

 

_Crack._

 

Damian had gripped the hand rest of his chair hard enough that the wood groaned. He couldn’t hear anything over the roaring blood in his ears. A _Lieutenant_?! A Lieutenant betrayed them?! Which one? Which one had betrayed not only the Darkness but their Knight as well?!

 

Like a light bulb going off, Damian abruptly stilled.

 

_“Traitor…”_

_“...Bad…”_

_“…Stay away…”_

 

Hadn’t the Darkness said it before? Hadn’t the Darkness already said it about _his_ own Lieutenant?

 

No.

 

 _No_ …

 

Damian _picked_ him. Damian had picked his own Lieutenant among thousands, he had picked a friend, a confidant, a _companion_. His own Lieutenant would _not_ betray him! He would not! Damian refused to believe it. It was someone else. Nightwing’s Lieutenant, perhaps. Nightwing was a bad judge of character, or maybe that traitorous Red Hood’s. Yes, that was even more reasonable. Like Knight, like Lieutenant. Red Hood’s Lieutenant probably followed his Knight’s footsteps and betrayed them all.

 

Damian forced his own body to relax. _Focus_. Knowledge was power. Luthor was still talking.

 

“ – the Knights are waking up. It seems that the last battle will happen in our time. According to my source, their side is gearing up for the big war as well. They are searching for the Darkness’ body which is rumored to have been created. So if we can find its body and dispose of it first before the Knights get to it then we can ensure that the Servants already lost a huge advantage…”

 

Damian narrowed his eyes. Like he would allow _that_ to happen. No one was allowed to kill his Father, not on his watch.

 

The rest of the meeting was inconclusive. Ideas were tossed back and forth but nothing was settled and after the important information exchange, it seemed the Council had decided to… gossip for the lack of better word. Quite frankly, Damian thought that was shameful of them.

 

“Is this the new Heir of the al Ghul? I’m not quite impressed.” Luthor’s arrogant voice cut Damian’s train of thought and both Ra’s and him looked up at the same time, their eyes glinted dangerously.

 

“Oh?” Ra’s said. “Where is _your_ Heir then? Oh yes. Talentless, magic-less boy you have, don’t you? I’ve heard all about it. Poor Lex Luthor, council member and can’t even produce one offspring that has any magical ability. Must run in your own worthless blood.” The older al Ghul sneered. For once, Damian enjoyed seeing his grandfather talked down on another.

 

Damian’s grandfather continued bragging. “I know we are better than the Luthors. I’m committed to being a powerful mage, and my family line has produced Seers, Prophets, Mages with Blood Magic-”

 

Lex Luthor sneered. “Why don’t you go mate with a _dog_ , al Ghul?” He spat. “That way you can get some of their sense of smell mixed into your oh-so-wonderful bloodline.”

 

“The al Ghuls have developed enough magical talents on our own without needing to _lower_ ourselves to breeding with animals.” A dark smirk appeared on Ra’s face. “But for someone whose bloodline is as pathetic as yours, Luthor, maybe _that_ would be an option to consider. Maybe then you won’t have to buy yourself a seat in the council.”

 

Damian could see a fight brewing between the two.

 

“Enough.” A voice cut in. It was the woman of South America, Diana Prince. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, fighting like that among the members. It’s time to unite against the Darkness, not fighting to see who is the best among ourselves.” She said sternly.

 

Ra’s looked like he wanted to argue some more but then he just settled for a small grunt before turning away.

 

Damian took a mental note.

 

_Despite being well organized, there were fights among the members of the Light. The conflicts would be its downfall._

 

* * *

 

Conner glanced up when his father stormed into the living room, looking livid. He hid a frown. It looked like Father’s cult wasn’t doing so well. He wondered what it was all about. Troubles with the authority? Maybe. He spread the notebook and continued to write down ideas. The newspaper had already talked about the missing Drakes and what would happen to their fortune. Police and some reporters had even come to question Conner because of his tie with Tim.

 

Of course, his father didn’t really care. He never did.

 

“Father, is everything… alright?” Conner asked finally. If he was going to take the brunt of his father’s wrath, he wanted to at least know what pissed him off so much.

 

Instead of answering, Lex turned around to face Conner. “What are you doing?” He asked.

 

Conner shrugged, carefully turning the page of the notebook to a blank sheet. “Homework. I have an essay for a subject at college, Entrepreneurship and Small Business Manag-”

 

“Yes, yes.” His father cut him off impatiently. He looked… disappointed and frustrated.

 

Conner didn’t understand. He didn’t know what he had done wrong to earn himself that look. His academic score might not be the top, but it wasn’t that bad, either and he had kept himself _mostly_ out of troubles, and the troubles he did get into was untraceable. He didn’t know _why_ he was the source of his father’s frustration and disappointment.

 

Briefly, Conner remembered the now empty kit that he had emptied while helping his boyfriend. Too soon to buy things now with the police looking so closely, but… Conner mentally shook his head, looking back up at his parent. “I… intend to do my internship this summer. I noticed one of your rivals has an empty spot in their rank and I’m thinking maybe if I can get in then I can –”

 

“Then you can what? Betray your Father’s company?” Lex asked.

 

“No. No. Not that. I mean. I thought maybe that would be a good idea to experience different work environment and –”

 

“Why can’t you even fulfill _half_ of my expectations? Or if that’s too much to ask for, even one fourth?” Lex cut him off.

 

That hurt.

 

Conner looked down, fingers digging into his jeans. “I don’t understand what you are saying, Father. I try really hard to graduate early and I still manage to keep my grades high and no teachers have any complains about me… I don’t… I don’t understand…”

 

_I don’t understand what you expect of me._

 

Lex sighed. “Forget it.” He said dismissively.

 

“Father… I…” Conner tried. He bit down on his bottom lip. “Is this about your cult?” He gathered his courage to ask, his voice was small.

 

“What?”

 

“Is this… Is this about the cult you are in?” Conner repeated.

 

“No, boy! What the hell have gotten into you? _Cult?!_ You have been way too close with that Drake boy. I know he’s nothing but troubles.” Lex cried out. “I can’t believe it. If I didn’t do that DNA test at least once a year, I wouldn’t believe you are my own blood. Why aren’t you even one bit _talented_?”

 

Conner snapped his notebook shut.

 

“Yeah well maybe it’s because you are not that good of a father to see my talents.” Conner muttered darkly, storming past Lex angrily. He would not take this shit from his own father. He had done his best. It was never enough for his father but he had thought that maybe, maybe if a parent loved their kid, just their ‘best’ would be enough. ‘ _Talented_ ’? He didn’t have any ‘talents’?

 

That hurt so bad.

 

Conner locked the door to his room once he was inside, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. He wanted to rage, to throw things in childish tantrums. However, he had thrown enough of those to know that they never worked. If anything, it made things worse. Yeah well, maybe he wasn’t enough for his father but at least he was enough for Tim.

 

Conner dropped his weight on the bed, slumping forward. He covered his face in his hands, forcing down the intense emotions his father brought out of him. Idiotic. He should have bought two murder kits. That would be a quick way to deal with problems.

 

No. No. No.

 

Not his own parent. Not his own blood.

 

“Shit, Tim. I hope, whatever being a Lieutenant or a Knight entails, that you can bring me out of this hellhole faster. I don’t know how long I will last here.” Conner whispered, brushing his hair back.

 

So tired of fighting against the darkness inside of him.

 

When would his father leave for the next business trip? He couldn't wait to be left alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Nightwing stood stock still. His eyes widened slightly.
> 
> "... Timmy? No... _Red...?_ Red Robin?" He asked softly. "Red...?"
> 
> "Hey, N." Red Robin smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes about this alternative universe. This is set in a universe similar but different from Prime Earth. For once, there are no superheroes, only in comics. However, as stated in the tags, this is a magical realism story so... fantasy elements will be presented. I enjoy a multi-cultural story so some characters will come from different backgrounds. I will most likely have to use a translational software so if anyone knows Spanish or Romanian or Arabic, please feel free to correct my mistakes.
> 
> Finally, thank you for your endless support. If you have any comments, suggestions or questions, please kindly let me know.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://chiakifics.tumblr.com/)


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